Descent into Hell
by Borglemash
Summary: Before they were members of Schwarz, they were just normal guys...well, normal guys with abnormal powers. Just how did they get sucked into working for Esset? Non Yaoi. Complete. Awaiting a possible sequel.
1. Blood on Black

Author's Notes: Because the Comtesse de Montrève wouldn't leave me alone.

Disclaimer: I don't own Weiß Kreuz. Rated R for everything. AU and not.

I love Schwarz.

Blood on Black

_This is the way the world ends  
Not with a bang but a whimper_  
"The Hollow Men" by T.S. Eliot

_One_. Blood on black. He watched as it flecked the mat and stained his gloves crimson.

_Two._ Bruises. He could already feel how swollen his face was and his mouth had a sharp, coppery taste.

_Three._ Pain. His arms ached, every part of his face hurt and his torso felt battered and sore from round after round of heartfelt battering.

_Four._ Light danced in front of his eyes and he saw images overlaying images, the here and now mixed with the then and will be.

_Five_. Somewhere the bell rang, signaling the end of a round. It took a moment for him to realize someone was leading him back to his corner, speaking loudly in his ear. He blinked rapidly in an effort to clear his vision.

"You're doing great out there man, really, really great."

His trainer Mac was talking to him as someone dabbed blood and sweat from his face. Every part of his body spoke in terms of pain, screaming at him insistently, begging him to stop, to rest, to slow down.

"I think if you just keep doing what you're doing it'll be an easy win for you pal. Just stick it to him and remember to duck now and then all right? You're getting hammered more than you need to be in there."

"Ngh." He turned his head to spit and wipe bloody foam from his mouth. "How long?"

"What?"

"How long do you want me to wait before I knock him out?"

Mac laughed and slapped him on the shoulder, making him wince.

"That's why I like you Bradley, you've got balls. Now get your ass back out there and beat the shit out of that idiot."

He staggered to his feet and half-stumbled back into the middle of the ring. Seconds passed and he heard the bell chime distantly before the fight began once more.

_One._ Movement. A fist flashed in front of his face and his body bent away from it of its own free will, avoiding the blow.

_Two._ Strike. He landed a solid punch, felt meat give way under the weight of his glove before he darted back.

_Three. _Silence. He couldn't hear the fans screaming anymore. Everything was silent as he waited, waited for the right moment…

_Four. _His lungs were burning as he twisted around, keeping his weight perfectly balanced as he pivoted on his left foot.

_Five._ A tiny smile touched his lips as he struck, his fist flashing out and striking the other man hard in the temple. His rival went flying, the expression on his face one of shock as he found himself lying on the floor, staring up at the fluorescent lights. Bradley stared at him, half-surprised, as he always was when a match was over and he was left standing alone in the ring. Then, in a howling rush all the sound came back and he was deafened by people screaming his name.

* * *

"So that's what you wanted to show me."

"I thought you might be interested."

The two men were sitting in the box seats that overshadowed the ring, watching as the crowd cheered wildly for the new champion. Bradley Crawford looked somewhat overwhelmed, gazing about with a dazed expression on his face.

"I don't usually take them so old. They're hard to train once they reach sixteen or so and it's not worth the effort to tame them. Still…" The older of the two leaned his chin into his hand, considering.

"Come on Valhendt, you can at least use him for one of your experiments, right? Or you can use him as target practice for some of those little piranhas you've got back at that new school of yours. What do you say? You know you can't pass up a genuine precog just because he's a few years past puberty."

The man known as Valhendt sighed, a slight smile curving the corners of his mouth as he regarded his companion.

"All right Williams, you've got me there. The clairvoyant are rather difficult to come by at any age; catching them young is indeed a rarity. We find elementals and psychics aplenty but…" Valhendt leaned back in his chair. "What do you have on this one so far?"

"About fifty pages of data readouts on brainwaves, chemical functions and that sort of thing, medical records, family history, psychological analysis…just about anything and everything you could ask for."

"Hmm, that's good. Why don't you come by the office tomorrow morning? Bring your files. I'll need to discuss this with my associates before I make any final decisions."

Valhendt turned his attention back to the young man in the boxing ring, watching in amusement as the fighter was escorted away by his cohort of assistants. After a few moments he reluctantly stood up.

"I must be going now. Thank you for the inviting me by the way; I'm surprised you thought of me."

"Just trying to return that favor that I owe you, you know, the one from Beijing…"

"Oh believe me Williams, it will take a great deal more than this to pay back that debt." Valhendt gave a polite bow and was gone, leaving the younger man to stare after him.

Williams gave a hearty sigh then, picking up his wine glass.

"I was afraid you were going to say that." He muttered sourly. Then he raised his glass in mock salute towards the door, tilted his head back, and proceeded to drink himself into oblivion.

Gunner Valhendt was not the type of person you wanted to owe a favor to.

* * *

"So how many more of those am I going to have to win before I can take a nice long vacation?"

Bradley Crawford was sitting in his favorite diner with Mac and his agent Walter. It had become a tradition after every match to get something to eat at _Mary Jo's_, where everything had been deep-fried and smothered in gravy. Well, almost everything anyway. The peach cobbler didn't come with gravy.

"That all depends on how you want to plan your career." Mac said, munching on some chilly-cheese fries.

"If you want to retire early you have to keep at it for a few years, win as many championships as you can and grill your ass into the ground. If you're willing to take a few chances you can have a longer career and take a few vacations."

"What kind of risks?" Walter inquired, taking a chunk out of the massive ketchup drenched sandwich that he held in his hands. When he spoke again bits of meat and lettuce flew out from between his lips, catching in his beard.

"Boxers, after a while, start to wear down. You can only take so many hits before the muscles tear and the joints stiffen and the eyesight goes…" Mac shrugged. "That's the problem with long-term careers, the longer the career the more danger you are in of getting knocked out one too many times and not waking up again."

Walter glanced over at Bradley, who was making his way through his third burger.

"The way he keeps going it won't matter how long his career is; he's never been knocked out."

"But his eyesight is already weak." Mac pointed out. "Unless I'm wrong he's quickly becoming near-sighted."

"So we get him some glasses and he looks smart on top of being an amazing fighter. We sell more tickets and in a few years it won't matter how bad his eyesight is; he can get surgery with all the money that he'll have by then." Walter said. "I don't see what the problem is."

Mac turned to the young man.

"What do you think Brad?"

"I want a vacation." The boxer said around a mouthful of burger. He reached for his drink and took a sip, licking his lips. "Walt's right, in five years it won't matter if I can see or not right? And it's not like I'll be going blind. I'll just wear glasses, or contacts. Doesn't bother me much."

Mac sighed.

"I hope you know what you're doing."

"Yeah, yeah." Bradley signaled to the waitress then. "Hey miss, can I get some of that peach cobbler?" She nodded and hurried back towards the kitchen. When she was gone the fighter grinned. "You should know better than to argue with me about my health Mac, I'm not all that interested in it."

His trainer rolled his eyes.

"Fine, but you're going to regret it."

"I can live with regret." Brad said. "I want five titles and a vacation at least once a year." He looked to Walter. "What do you think?"

"I think you've got it in the bag Crawford boy. Just keep winning like you have been and," Walter snapped his fingers. "no one's going to be able to stop you."

"Here's your cobbler honey." The waitress deposited the dessert on the table with a wink at Bradley, who smiled up at her as he dug in.

"I still don't like it." Mac grumbled.

"You're allowed to dislike it." Bradley said. "Just as long as you don't get in my way." Then he was plowing through his cobbler, and all discussions were ended. For the moment at least.

* * *

"So Jess, what do you think?"

Valhendt was sitting in the small, bright yellow kitchen of the woman that his company had deemed their official oracle. He had been in this room many times before, watching the clairvoyant bustling around as she made them both tea. They had found Jesselyn Moraven years ago, saving her from false criminal charges in exchange for utilizing her skills. Back then she was a tiny, terrified little slip of a thing who started at her own shadow and was suspicious of everything and everyone, including him.

Now she was calmly handing him a teacup, smoothing long dark hair back from her face as she settled into a chair.

"He's going to cost you a lifetime's worth of trouble." She said. "Regrets, mistakes, years of despair, when he's finally finished you're going to wish that you had never met him."

"Come now Jess," Valhendt pouted. "you say that about all of my friends."

"You don't have any friends Gunner, just employees and colleagues." She smiled as she said it, taking some of the bite out of the words. "And I mean it about this one, he's going to be your undoing."

"But will he be successful?" Valhendt pressed. "If I put him in the program, will he make it worth my while?"

"Oh yes." Her eyes were sad as she spoke. "He will succeed where all the others have failed. He will be the best leader you've ever had, of the best team that you've ever seen. In five years there will not be a single organization in existence with a group to match his."

"Then I don't see a problem…"

"Seven years from now you will be celebrated in your company as the best of the best, a go-getter, someone who put Rosenkreuz into power. You will be at the top of your game."

"All the better then…"

"And nine years from now you will be a dead man, and that boy will be the cause."

Valhendt was silent for a long time, staring at her. Then he looked down at his tea, gazing into its depths as he considered her words.

"You say nine years?"

"Yes."

He smiled reassuringly and took a sip of his tea before setting the cup and saucer down on the table.

"Nine years is enough." He ignored her protests then, standing up and reaching for his jacket. "I'll come and see you again soon, all right? Maybe I'll bring some of those cookies that you're so fond of, or a cheesecake from that dessert restaurant downtown."

"You did hear what I said, right?"

"Mmhm. Nine years." Valhendt flashed a playful grin as he moved towards the door. "I think that's a fair exchange for power and success. Take care Jess, and don't worry about it, all right?"

She watched him go, confusion and irritation warring on her face. When he was gone she went back into her kitchen, gazing at the two half-empty cups still sitting on the table.

"What an idiot." She murmured sadly, collecting the dishes and carrying them to the sink. "He didn't even bother to ask me how he could stop it."

* * *

Bradley Crawford was having a nightmare. He did not have them often; usually he fell into a sleep too deep for any kind of dreams to penetrate his mind. Every great once in a while however some dark whisper would find its way into his skull and he would spend a night in a cold sweat, whimpering and muttering as he tossed and turned on his pull-out sofa.

_"You're being a fool Bradley_."

_As always his father was wearing a suit, always the business man, always too cool and intelligent to be ruffled by the appearance of his son. They hadn't seen each other in three years, not since he'd run away from home at sixteen to follow his own light-hearted hopes._

_"What are you going to do when you can't even see the numbers on the alarm clock anymore? Do you really think that your money and your success are going to comfort you then?"_

_"Shut up old man." Bradley snarled. "Leave me alone."__He tried to shove past the old man and failed, stopped by a hand on his shoulder._

_"They're coming for you son."_

_"What the hell are you talking about?" He demanded angrily. "Who's coming?"_

_"They know about you. They're coming to take you away, just like I always said that they would. They're coming with their pills and their padded rooms and their science lab to do experiments on you. They'll poke you and prod you until there's nothing left but a brain in a jar."_

_"I said LEAVE ME ALONE!"_

In the waking world Bradley shouted incoherently, nails digging into his palms as he struggled with an invisible force.

_"I can hear them coming Bradley, can you? You'd better start running now or they'll catch you. Run little Bradley, run away so they can't find you…"_

He jolted upright in bed, gasping for air, his body slick with sweat, his heart slamming painfully in his chest. There were tears in his eyes as he shoved the blanket away from his body and stumbled to his feet, trying in vain to read the blurry red numbers on the bedside clock. Angry and terrified he rubbed his eyes and blinked rapidly, straining to make out the fuzzy lines.

"Agghhhh!" He slammed his fist into the wall and pressed his hands to the sides of his skull. "What's wrong with me?" He whispered. "What's wrong?"

_Coffee_. He thought suddenly. _I just need some coffee to calm my nerves and then this pounding pain in my head will stop and I'll be able to see the clock just fine…_

He made his way into the kitchen, bare feet making a whisper of a sound as he went to retrieve the coffee-maker from its hiding place behind the toaster. When he was finished setting up he collapsed into a chair to wait for the coffee to brew. Almost before he had settled in he felt a familiar prickling at the base of his spine, a chill as his hair stood on end. Pain shot through his skull and he groaned, closing his eyes…

_When he opened his eyes he was standing in a room he'd never seen before. Outside it was raining, he could hear the water drumming on the roof and the periodic bursts of thunder that exploded in the sky overhead. Somewhere he could hear someone screaming, a terrible, maniacal howling that made him want to cover his ears. It seemed to be coming from just down the hall, from the locked room that he could just barely glimpse over the edge of the couch…_

_"You should take it easy."_

_He blinked, turning to stare at the dark-haired boy standing beside him who was busy with the first aid kit. After a moment the boy leaned forward and began meticulously cleaning the wound on Bradley's arm, wiping the blood away and applying the antiseptic with a practiced hand._

_"You're always getting injured. I would think with your gift this wouldn't happen as often as it does." The boy smiled slightly and finished his work, standing up. "I'll go see to Farfarello. He sounds like he's about to tear through those restraints again."_

_"Take care he doesn't bite your fingers off chibi." A voice from his left said, the words coming out with a strong foreign accent. Bradley couldn't turn to see who it was, but he had the impression of fiery hair and a mocking expression before his gaze was pulled back to the boy._

_"Farfarello doesn't give me any trouble." The boy was saying. "Besides, he can't break my hold. I'll be back in a few minutes. Don't kill each other while I'm gone."_

_Bradley wanted to open his mouth, wanted to protest, wanted to beg the boy not to go into that room…_

Then he was sitting in his kitchen again, staring wide-eyed at his reflection in the window. A friendly hissing sound from his coffee-maker told him that the coffee was ready and he stood up to get his mug.

When he sat down with his hot drink and the last traces of his vision still clinging to his mind, he found that he still couldn't read the numbers on the clock.

* * *

"So, are we in agreement then?" Valhendt looked around at his colleagues, trying to read their expressions.

"It's your school Gunner." One of the women said, folding her hands on the table. "Although I do think that he's a little old for you to be considering as a candidate for your first class. Are you sure you told us everything that Moraven said? It seems that you're leaving something out…"

"Nonsense." Valhendt said. "She told me that he would be successful; he will build the strongest team that we've ever had. Isn't that enough?"

"Jess usually adds warnings to her advice." A man pointed out, frowning slightly. "What did she say about that?"

"She just said not to get too overconfident and to keep him firmly under control. As long as we do that he'll remain obedient and we'll have a good weapon on our hands."

He could tell that the others didn't like it. They'd been listening to him for ten years, but Jess had never given such a positive reading before and they were still suspicious.

"Look," He said finally, spreading his hands. "You can go and ask her yourself. She said that in five years there won't be another organization to match him and in seven years we will be at the top of our game, unopposed by anyone and in complete control of our business. Her advice not to be overconfident was sound, and aside from pointing out that we should avoid giving him too many liberties there was nothing else of note."

They were reluctantly nodding, glancing at each other questioningly but still unable to come up with a reason to say no.

"Now, unless you have some other objections or you would like to hike out into the woods to talk to Jess, I would suggest that we begin planning his recruitment as soon as possible."

There were a few tense moments then as they waited for someone to speak up, to dissent. Five minutes passed without a word and, smiling contentedly, Valhendt leaned forward.

"All right then. Shall we begin?"

* * *

Author's Notes: (for real this time) Yes, I have original characters. Before you throw a fit though there's something you need to understand. The focus of this story is on the future members of Schwarz and how they were shaped into the men they are in the series. All original characters were created for the sole purpose of interacting with Bradley, Schuldig, Farfarello and Nagi. So relax and give the OC's a chance before you dismiss them completely.

Please, if you're going to review leave something that's worth reading. Tell me what you think of plot, characters, etc and what you think I can improve on.

Updates are possible but not yet definite,

Talk to you later,

Borglemash the Conqueror


	2. Friendly Offers, Unfriendly Threats

Author's Notes: Will now come at the end of every chapter

Disclaimer: I don't own Weiß Kreuz. Rated R for everything. AU and not.

Because the devil rides a camel

Friendly Offers, Unfriendly Threats

The carpet was, Williams decided, exactly the color that vomit would be after an all-night drinking binge and a large spaghetti dinner. He had been staring at it for almost three hours now while he waited for Valhendt to arrive. Three long, mind-numbing hours spent reading the same sports magazines and listening to the secretary answer the phone. With every passing moment he felt more and more uneasy about the whole affair, until he thought he was going to lose his mind.

"I'm sure he'll be in soon." The secretary said for the fifth time, smiling reassuringly at him. "He had an early appointment with some associates that probably ran late."

Williams nodded and murmured something sympathetic before turning his eyes back to the carpet and its sickening swirl of colors and designs. He had read the same issues of _Horse and Hound_ and _Sports Illustrated _about three times now. It was just like Valhend to leave something so boring in the waiting room of his office.

Thinking about it now, Williams was beginning to believe that last night had been a mistake on his part. He'd thought that finding a precog for the German's little school would be enough to pay off his debts with the other man. Unfortunately he hadn't remembered just how nasty Valhendt could be.

He'd gone in with confidence, because everyone knew that genuine seers were almost impossible to come by. Jesselyn Moraven and Bradley Crawford were two out of four of their kind so far to be discovered by the group known as Rosenkreuz. For whatever reason it was one of the most rare forms of psychic ability, as well as the most difficult to control. With a gift like that, Williams had thought, his debts would be paid off in no time. He could forget about five years ago, about Beijing, and all of those people…

He shivered and picked up the magazine once again, flipping idly through the pages in an attempt to take his mind off of his fears. It would not do to go into a meeting with Valhendt feeling as nervous as he was right now. The man could practically smell fear and he used it as a weapon when making deals.

And the last thing Williams needed was another debt piled onto the ones he already had just because he wasn't paying attention.

Finally the door to the waiting room opened and the businessman appeared, as finely dressed as ever and smiling coolly as he caught sight of his guest.

"Ah, Williams. You'll have to forgive me, I was in a meeting."

Standing up the smaller man offered an uneasy nod, watching with wide eyes as Valhendt briefly conversed with his secretary.

"Now," The German said when he was finished. "Why don't you put down that riveting volume of _Horse and Hound _and step into my office? If I remember correctly, we have business to do."

Williams followed Valhendt into his office, trying to disguise his unease as he took a seat gingerly across from the other man. He watched as his companion fussed with the blinds and poured himself a glass of water from a pitcher placed on his desk and found himself trying desperately to calm his pounding heart. When Valhendt finally sat in his chair, hands folded in front of him, all of his attention focused on his visitor, the young man thought he might just have a heart attack then and there.

"You might be interested to know that I made a decision about your precog."

"Oh?" Williams winced a little as his voice squeaked. Valhendt raised an eyebrow in amusement.

"Yes. I spoke to Jesselyn Moraven last night after the match. She believes that your foundling may be somewhat useful if I take the time to train him now. We may find a place for him among the lesser ranks, possibly as a teacher or as an oracle in one of the sects. I appreciate your bringing him to my attention."

Williams coughed a little, fidgeting with the edge of his shirt.

"If I help you recruit him, would it absolve me of my debt to you?"

"That won't be necessary." Valhendt said in a friendly tone. "I already have someone on it." He smiled. "Besides, I would not throw away a favor so lightly."

Feeling like a hunted animal Williams gave a weak nod and slowly moved to stand up.

"Oh, not quite yet my friend. I actually have a little something that you might do for me."

"What is it?" Williams demanded, suspicious.

"Nothing really." Valhendt smiled charmingly. "You remember that Irish boy you told me about a few years ago? The one who lost his mind and murdered his family?"

"Yes." Williams said reluctantly.

Valhendt leaned forward, a gleam in his dark eyes.

"Would you, by any chance, know where I might find him?"

Williams swallowed, sinking back into the chair. He cleared his throat, tucking stray strands of hair behind his ears.

"I might." He admitted.

Valhendt's smile was wide and dark and delighted, and it was frightening enough that it almost made Williams piss himself.

"That's perfect." The German said softly. "Absolutely perfect."

Williams felt a shiver go down his spine at the words, and he wondered, not for the first time, what in the world he had been thinking when he got himself into this mess.

* * *

"Mr. Valhendt?"

The German looked up from the files he'd compiled about Bradley Crawford to see his secretary standing in the doorway to his office.

"Yes Florence?"

"There's a young lady here to see you sir. A Miss…" She frowned, glancing at her clipboard. "Hito."

"Ah, thank you. Please show her in."

Yumemiru Hito had been Rosenkreuz's first official student. He'd found her in a fishing village in Japan when she was eight years old and been struck by the strength of her gift. She could alter people's minds, the way that they thought, the things that they thought about, their preferences, their personalities. There was no name for it; the members of the board simply called it Manipulation and he thought that it was a suitable enough title for what she did. Her parents hadn't protested when he took her away and, though he'd given them his number, they hadn't bothered to contact him in eleven years.

"Good morning." She appeared in the doorway with a sweet smile, her long dark hair falling over her shoulders as she stepped inside.

"Good morning to you as well Yume." Valhendt stood up to embrace her, patting her shoulder in a fatherly manner before waving for her to sit down. "Can I get you anything?"

"No, thank you. You wanted to see me?"

"You recently filed for an extended leave from the organization. I was willing to grant it until I noticed that you did not specify a reason. You know that you have to include the reason for your absence before I can grant it."

The young woman offered a bland look, the flash of irritation in her eyes the only sign of emotion.

"I thought that since I've done more than my share of work for the organization over the years you wouldn't mind giving me a little time to myself."

Valhendt looked slightly amused at this, tilting his chin into his hand.

"That is what personal days are for my dear. Now why don't you stop trying to tiptoe around this and tell me why you want to go?"

"I've been working for the New York office for two years now, ever since I graduated from the school in Germany. Before I left the academy I told you that I wanted to continue my education." With this she drew an envelope out of her pocket and nudged it across the table toward him. "A month ago I was accepted to one of the top universities in Japan. My term begins at the start of the next school year."

Valhendt glanced at the envelope, reading the name printed on it.

"Rosenkreuz has a secondary school." He pointed out in a low voice.

"A prison." Yumemiru retorted. "Bars on the windows, guards at the doors, a school full of unstable gifted students who show their anger by making beakers explode and summoning thunder storms. You spend more time trying not to upset people and competing with your abilities than you spend actually learning. I've been there, I've seen it. No thank you."

"True, very true. But then, very few Rosenkreuz students have the desire to learn that you do." Valhendt leaned back in his chair, gazing at her with a calculating look on his face. After a few moments he smiled. "I'll grant your leave." He said.

"You will?" Yumemiru looked surprised, her dark eyes wide. A second later they narrowed in suspicion. "What's the catch?"

"Just a little favor really, nothing of overwhelming import."

"What is it?" She demanded.

Valhendt passed Bradley Crawford's file across the table to her, leaning so that he was resting his chin in his hand.

"He was brought to my attention by an acquaintance of mine only recently. I've reviewed his file extensively and consulted the board on the matter." He passed a small case to her as well and when she opened it she found identification, credit cards, account numbers…everything it would take to go undercover. "I want you to recruit him for the school."

"You're kidding."

"No, I am quite serious."

"What happened to the recruitment agency? I thought they handled this kind of thing?"

"This is a special case. Consider it the price of your freedom. Recruit him for me and I'll pay for you to go to the college in Japan."

She was silent for a long time, staring at him as his offer rebounded wildly through her head. One mission, undercover, a month, two at the most before she convinced the target to join the organization. When she was done she could say goodbye for the next few years, forget about the school where she'd spent nine years of her life learning how to be a weapon. She could live in a dorm with other students, go out for pizza, join a study group…

"All right." She said finally. "When do I leave?"

* * *

Los Angeles, Brad Crawford thought to himself, was a place he would rather not visit gain any time soon. He was a small-town boy, more the type to dine at a place like _Mary Jo's_ than to enjoy five star cuisine at an expensive restaurant. Unfortunately L.A. was a flashy place, full of extravagant people and the kind of forwardness that made him uncomfortable. Not to mention the fact that everyone was completely anonymous and, having grown up in a place where neighbors always knew each other, he found it somewhat unnerving.

Still, it wasn't a bad place to win a match. The publicity was always a good thing too, and Walter said that if he kept winning and he captured a title he would be able to take a vacation soon.

The sound of his cell phone ringing pulled him away from his thoughts. He pulled it out of his pocket, glanced at the number, and made a face. Walter. His agent was great when it came to arranging matches and getting him into magazines but that didn't mean he enjoyed talking to him.

"Brad here."

"Where are you?" Walter demanded. "You're supposed to be at the office on 51st for your interview!"

"What? What are you talking about?"

"The Z-Mag! Did you forget again? I told you four times yesterday that you had an interview at two o'clock…"

"Oh." He glanced at his watch. "I guess my watch stopped, it still reads ten o'clock. Uh, where did you say it was again?"

"51st! Get your ass over here now or we're going to lose the magazine. I don't know why I even bother…" Walter's voice trailed off as he hung up the phone and Brad Crawford was left standing on the sidewalk, making a face.

"I hate it when he does that." He murmured, putting his phone away. He glanced up at the street name. 53rd. The magazine office wasn't that far away, close enough for him to walk. With a sigh he set off down the street, shoving his hands into his pockets as he made his way along.

He really wasn't looking forward to this.

* * *

"So Mr. Crawford,"

"Please don't call me that."

"Of course Mr. Crawford. Anyway, what would you say is the most important preparation that you undergo for a match?"

Brad wanted to roll his eyes, to scream, to do something to make the reporter sitting across from him realize she was being an idiot. Who cared what he did before a match? Or what he ate for breakfast every morning? Or how many hours he slept? Or (and where had they gotten this question?) what kind of underwear he wore?

"I believe that I've already said that I don't really do anything special. Mostly just relax for a while, do a few exercises to get my blood going, read a book…" He shrugged. "Sometimes I eat a snack or take a nap."

"Fabulous, just fabulous." She began to scribble madly and he had the unnerving feeling that she was not writing down anything that he had said. After a moment she looked back up at him, expectant. "And what would you say is your favorite brand of tennis shoe?"

_What? What kind of a question is that?_

"Ahhh…." He glanced at Walter. Hadn't they made a deal to endorse some company…

Walter was mouthing something that was either 'Ike' or 'Nike'. As he'd never heard of a company called Ike he assumed that the latter was correct.

"Nike." He said finally, and was rewarded with a thumbs-up from Walter. Great, at least he'd gotten that one right. Not too long ago she'd asked him about soup brands and he'd said Ample's instead of Campbell's. That hadn't gone over well.

"Now," the journalist was saying. "I want you to tell me more about your childhood. Did your father own a Chevy or a Honda?"

Crawford put his chin in his hand and wondered how much longer this was going to continue. He glanced at the clock. He'd already been here for an hour. Maybe if he was lucky…No, better not to hope. He should just start writing his suicide note now. If he kept it short he could be dead before she started asking him about his love life.

* * *

Yumemiru watched the door to the building, idly flipping the pages of a book that she was not really reading. Her target was inside, had been for well over an hour now, without any signs that he would be coming out. With a grumble of annoyance she pulled out her pocket mirror, carefully examining her face in it. After a moment she put it away, satisfied that her appearance was, in all respects, perfect. Valhendt had told her to use whatever skills necessary in order to ensure the success of her mission.

There was only one skill that she possessed that was sure to recruit Bradley Crawford. It had a great deal to do with looks, and very little to do with anything else.

"Can I help you Miss?"

She looked up to see a waiter standing over her. She'd been sitting in the restaurant for over an hour and all she'd ordered so far was a cup of tea and a sandwich.

"Iie." She smiled sweetly. "Arigato."

"Oh. Sorry." He frowned, confused. "I thought you spoke English. Ah…have a nice day." He walked away, obviously still trying to figure out what he'd managed to miss. He was so sure that she'd ordered her tea and sandwich in English, but now…surely he'd been mistaken. She had probably just pointed it out to him. Probably.

Yume rolled her eyes, watching the waiter walk away. Poor guy. All it had taken was a subtle tug on his memory and he couldn't even remember how she'd ordered her food.

She turned her gaze back toward the building just in time to see Brad Crawford walking out. He looked flustered and annoyed and he was shoving his hands into his pockets with a sullen glare up at the windows.

_Perfect, he's alone_.

She hurriedly paid for her things and bounded out onto the street…just in time to slam face-first into her target's chest.

"Ow." She muttered, rubbing her nose.

"Oh jeeze, I'm sorry." Bradley Crawford took a measured step back, reaching out to steady her with a hand on her elbow. "Are you all right?"

"Grand." Yume replied. "I'm afraid I wasn't watching where I was going."

"I know how that feels." He said, smiling. "You're sure you're all right though? I've gotten a few nasty bruises running into things."

"I'll manage." She tucked her hair behind her ears, suddenly feeling incredibly shy. He was just a job, she reminded herself. Just a job. He just happened to be incredibly hot, and tall, and built…

She remembered in time that she was supposed to be interesting him right about now. She directed a subtle command, tweaking his memory a little so that she seemed familiar to him. His eyes flickered a little and he frowned slightly, as if trying to place her face somewhere in his past.

"Do I know you from somewhere?" He asked, voice soft.

He looked amazing when he was confused. His eyes were slightly glazed, his lips parted…

"No." She said. "I don't think we've met."

"Well," He grinned. "We'll have to remedy that then." He offered her his hand. "I am Bradley Crawford."

"Hito Yumemiru."

"You are Japanese?" Bradley inquired.

"Yes. And you are American."

"Mmhm."

"Could be interesting."

The dark-haired boxer offered her a winning smile.

"I know a wonderful little café just down the street where we can get these…ah…pastry things that are really good. You wanna go?"

She should have said no. If she'd said no she would have been able to lure him in and avoid actually getting to know him. But the way his hair fell into his face was very sweet and the way he gestured toward the street was…well, cute. So, against the sage advice of the voices screaming in her head she said,

"All right."

* * *

The voices wouldn't stop. They were always whispering, nattering, insisting, demanding. Every time he tried to find silence they would be louder, until he could scarcely hear himself breathing. Then it would begin, the praying, screaming in his ears like the roar of the ocean. Overwhelming, painful, like nails on a chalkboard and the feel of blood under his nails.

_Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee…_

He whimpered, covered his ears with his hands and sinking wearily to his knees. If only they would be quiet, if only they would stop for a single moment he could learn how to think again, how to function, how to be.

_Blessed art thou among women…_

"No." He growled. "Not blessed. Cursed. _Cursed_." The knife was in his hands without his realizing it. He didn't remember where he'd gotten it or how but it felt good when he drew it across his forearms. Blood welled, an agony that he couldn't even feel but one that he could watch, rapt, involved.

_And blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus…_

"Shut up!" He rocked backwards, striking his head against the wall so that it gave a resounding _crash_. "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!"

Now he could see them, standing in front of him with arms outstretched, lips moving in eternal prayer. Their hands were red with blood and they were going to touch him, to smear the blood on him.

"It was Him!" He cried. "It was Him! God hates, he cries, it was Him!"

He began to pound on the walls, banging his fists until they were heavy and numb. Then it was his head and he could feel the blood beginning to leak down through his hair, across his cheeks to his throat. It was warm and wet and when he put his tongue out he could taste the salty sweetness of it, the cloying taste.

"Make him hurt." He whispered, sinking to the ground once more. He drew swirling crimson patterns on his arms, watching the blood rise and drip in splashes across the floor. "Make him cry. God must cry."

There was a cross burned into the back of his eyes. A man hung on it, groaning in pain, blood pooling at his feet. It was a haunting image, one that brought with it the nuns and white-collared priests from his childhood.

"Nooooo! Nooooooooooooooo!" He put his head on the floor and sobbed, burying his face in his hands as tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. "Make them stop. Make them go away."

"Do you think there's any way he's ever going to recover?"

"It's unlikely. Even with sedation he's out of control and I don't dare give him too much or he could go into a coma."

The woman leaned against the window, watching with sorrow in her eyes as the young man sliced into his arms and raged against the walls of his room. There were deep scars on the palms of her hands and she looked down at them, frowning.

"It was never meant to be this way." She whispered. "I only just found him again."

"Ma'm, I'm very sorry about all of this." The doctor said. "But there really is nothing that we can do for him. He shows signs of Schizophrenia, severe Post Traumatic Stress, Depression…his list of neurosis goes on and on. We can't treat any of it for fear of worsening something else."

"I…I understand." She closed her eyes, leaning her forehead against the cool glass. "Could you, could you just make sure that he is comfortable then? I don't want him to suffer…"

"Of course ma'm. We'll make him as comfortable as possible for the time that he is here."

"What? What do you mean? I thought he was going to be here permanently."

"Oh no ma'm. In a few days he'll be transported to another hospital better organized to deal with this kind of case."

"Oh." The woman turned back to the room and its troubled patient. "Where is it?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that." He smiled apologetically. Then he turned to go, waving over his shoulder. "Anyway, I'll let you see yourself out."

She stared after him, shock apparent on her face. When he was gone however, and it was obvious she would not be receiving any further information she leaned against the window, giving herself over to tears.

And inside of the room the Irish boy called Jei continued to lose himself to madness. Bit by bit, piece by piece the parts of him shattered and slipped away into the darkness until only a jagged outline remained. Just the silhouette of a boy, and the whisper of a gift that no one had ever seen.

* * *

Yay Farfie! Well? How did you like it? I know how most people tend to feel about OCs but in this case they're kind of a necessary evil, and I do love them in my own way. Tell me what you think of them, any suggestions or criticisms or anything like that.

Updates should be arriving every two weeks or so. This is the last one before I go off to college though, so the next might be a little late depending on how my professors treat me.

Next Chapter: A Conspiracy and Other Games

Look for updates starting on August 31st

Talk to ya then!


	3. A Conspiracy, And Other Games

Author's Notes: Still come at the end of the chapter.

Disclaimer: I don't own Weiß Kreuz. Rated R for everything. AU and not

Who eats pickle cake?

A Conspiracy, and Other Games

The kitchen timer let out a piercing ring, proudly announcing to all within hearing that the coffee cake in the oven was now done. Jess Moraven appeared a few seconds later, wiping ink from her hands with a towel. She quickly removed the cake from the heating rack and put it on top of the stove, humming softly to herself. After spending most of the day working on her latest artistic creation she was ready for a slice of cake and a cup of tea.

In her spare time Jess made ink prints on paper, on silk screens, on hard wood, on any kind of surface she could get her hands on. She had her own show at a gallery downtown and she was currently working on the last installment of the collection. In fact, she had just finished the last piece.

"There we are."

She cut a slice of cake and put it on a small plate on the table before moving to boil some water for tea. Just as she was turning on the stove the phone rang and, with a slightly annoyed look on her face, she went to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Jess, It's Valhendt."

"What's wrong now? Got another emergency reading you need done?"

"Jess…ou…ne…ow…"

"Hey, you're breaking up."

"Jess…ut…no…"

"Sorry babe, you'll have to call back when you get a better signal. Sounds like Greek to me." She hung up the phone, flipping her braid over one shoulder as she removed a fork from the drawer.

She was crossing the kitchen to open the screen door for some fresh air when the phone rang again. Rolling her eyes, she moved back to pick it up.

"Hello?"

"Jess you need…o…ne…ow…un…"

"Hey, babe, give it up." Jess shouldered the phone, retrieving a teacup and saucer from the cabinet. "You're obviously in a bad signal area. If it's that important get your ass to the top of a hill, wait for a clear signal, and try again."

This time when she put the phone down it was with an air of finality, as if she knew she would not pick it up again. A few minutes later she had the screen door propped open and she had scattered some bird seed on the deck. On nice days she liked to sit at the kitchen table and watch the birds flock to the rails for food. It was a simple pleasure, something that never failed to amuse her.

When the phone rang again she ignored it, reacting instead to the shrill shriek of the teapot as the water came to a boil. She made her tea with a practiced flourish, making it dark and strong with just a squeeze of lemon before taking her seat at the table. After twelve rings the phone was silent and she smiled in satisfaction as she took a bite of her cake. It was better than she'd hoped it would be. She'd have to use the recipe again.

A sparrow had just landed on the deck and begun to feed when the phone rang one more time. The bird did not seem disturbed by the sound, hopping along the wooden rail and scooping a beak full of seeds. Jess smiled a little, sipping her tea. She pretended that she didn't hear the phone; that it wasn't even ringing.

She was so focused on ignoring the phone that she didn't hear the front door open and close. It was never locked; she always saw who was coming to visit before they arrived so there was no point in drawing bolts and chains across it. Valhendt always berated her for being foolish. _You don't always see everything_. He would remind her sternly. She always smiled and left it wide open when he walked out.

If she hadn't been so fascinated by the birds gathering outside, it was entirely possible that she would have noticed the shadow moving across the kitchen floor toward her. Surely she would have noticed the glint on the edge of the gun out of the corner of her eye as it aimed towards her head. But she had always loved watching the birds and she was completely enthralled by their cheerful antics out on the deck.

Perhaps if the phone hadn't been ringing so insistently she would have heard the click of the safety being pulled. After all, she'd been trained to listen for that sound in visions and reality alike. Unfortunately Valhendt was nothing if not persistent and the ringing continued on and on in a rather irritating roundelay. So she did not hear the safety, or the squeak of shoes on the clean tile floor.

But in the last instant she heard the gunshot explode above the sound of the phone, so loud that she was deafened instantly by the report. And then the birds disappeared, and her hands slipped from the table as she slumped lifelessly into her chair, blood dripping to pool around her chair.

The gunman left more quietly than he had come, though there was no one now to hear him. Maybe it was out of nerves; the phone was making him a little jumpy. Or it could have been that he was afraid of alerting the neighbors by making any sudden movements or loud sounds. But in his heart of hearts it was out of respect for the dead, respect for the woman still sitting at the kitchen table, her sightless eyes staring out at the lush green yard, and the place where the birds had been, before the gunshot scared them away.

* * *

"How many times did I tell her to lock her front door?" Valhendt snarled, slamming his fist down on his desk. It made his secretary jump and she looked a little guilty as she dropped the files she'd been holding.

"I'm very sorry sir. I know how much you liked her."

"Yes well, nothing can be done about it now."

The German slumped into his chair, putting his head between his hands. He'd received word less than an hour ago that Jesselyn Moraven had been found slain in her home. A single gunshot to the back of the head and…He shivered. He hadn't wanted to see what that single shot had done to that face, hadn't wanted to have to look into a ruin of flesh and bone and see something familiar in the wreckage. So when they'd asked if he wanted to view the body, protocol when dealing with an agent of Rosenkreuz, he had politely declined.

It made him feel cheap somehow, not viewing her body. As if he didn't care enough to be able to see what had been done to her, how she'd been torn apart by that bullet. But he couldn't afford to think of it that way. She was just an employee, another agent, one among many and though not really expendable, still, replaceable.

"Florence, would you please call the clean-up crew dealing with Agent Moraven's death and tell them to have her cremated?"

"Of course sir. Where should I have the ashes taken?"

"Her parents live in California." He moved to his file cabinet and, after rifling through the papers, retrieved one of them. "Send the ashes there, along with a letter expressing our condolences to the family for their loss."

"Yes sir. What would you like them to do about the house?"

Valhendt paused, considering. It was a nice house, newly built and well-kept. Someone else would probably end up living there, once the media lost interest in it and the bloodstains were washed away. But her things were still there…

"I'll take care of that." He said finally. He could do that for her at least. Take the last of her art collection to the gallery for the showing, gather a few of her prized possessions to put in the care of her friends and the rest…well, he would see about the rest as well.

"Very well then sir, is there anything else I can do for you?"

"No that will be all for now Florence. When you've finished you may go home, I think I'm going to leave early myself today."

"Thank you sir. And please, do know that I am sorry about what happened."

"I am grateful for your sympathies." Valhendt offered his secretary a pale smile. "Now, go along. I'm going to finish a few things in here before I go."

"Yes sir." The woman walked out of his office, closing the door behind her as she went off to do his bidding. When she was gone the German gave a tiny groan and put his head down on the desk.

"Oh Jess, how could you have been so stupid…"

He could still hear her voice on the other end of the phone, unconcerned, jovial even as she called him 'babe' and went about her business. They'd said she was found sitting at the kitchen table, so ordinary, a piece of cake and a cup of cold tea sitting in front of her. The only difference between that and her usual routine was the fact that she was dead.

Valhendt didn't realize he was crying until he saw the wet spots blurring the ink on the reports covering his desk. Then his breath caught in his throat and he closed his eyes, feeling the lump rising up into his mouth. The bitter taste made him choke and gasp and then he was sobbing, his shoulders shaking with the force of his grief.

For a man who did his best not to cry, Gunner Valhendt shed an awful lot of tears.

* * *

"What do you mean?" Yumemiru demanded. For a moment there was silence on the other end of the line and then…

"She was found yesterday in her home with a bullet through the brain."

The Japanese woman sank back into her chair, black eyes wide with shock as she took in the information. She'd known Jesselyn Moraven for years, almost since she first joined Rosenkreuz. They had been good friends in that time, and the clairvoyant had taught her a great deal about surviving within the organization. Jess had always been good with politics, with intrigues and the like. So how was it that she could be dead?

"Do you know who did it?" She asked finally.

"There are currently no real leads. The best we can guess, it was a lone gunman, probably hired either by an old enemy or a rival organization."

Yumemiru shook her head, denial in her eyes. It couldn't be true, it just couldn't…

"Anything else I need to know?"

"Just watch your back. For all we know, they're targeting all of Rosenkreuz. Step lightly, and keep that precog of yours close by."

With that the other person hung up, and she was left with the knowledge that one of her best friends, a woman she had considered to be completely invincible, had been murdered in cold blood in the middle of the day.

"Yume?"

She turned, still feeling a little shell-shocked, to see Brad Crawford regarding her with uncertainty in his amber eyes.

"Are you all right?" He inquired tentatively.

In that instant she remembered where she was, and why. She offered her new boyfriend a shaky smile, pocketing her phone and glancing around for a moment before returning her attention to him.

"Just a little bad news, that's all." She said softly.

"Bad news? What happened?"

"My friend, someone I've known for a very long time, died yesterday. She ah…she was murdered."

Brad's eyes widened and he reached over to take her hand gently.

"Oh Yume, I'm sorry." He looked at the meal that the waiter had just delivered, then at his girlfriend. After a moment he signaled to the waiter. "Can you wrap all of this up for us?" He asked. "I'm afraid we have to leave now."

"Certainly sir." The waiter disappeared with their plates, moving with an air of efficiency about him that was somewhat impressive.

"Where are we going?" Yume asked, a little dazed.

"Back to your place." Brad replied. "You probably want to be alone for a while…"

"No."

"What?"

Yume cringed inwardly. There she went again, speaking before she thought about it first. Ever since she'd started 'dating' Bradley Crawford it seemed that she couldn't do her job the way she wanted to. Somehow being around him messed with her head, made it hard to focus on her goal, stopped her from performing the way that she should have.

"I mean…" She drew in a deep breath. "I don't want to be alone. Do you…would you mind staying with me for a while?"

He smiled reassuringly, giving her hand a squeeze.

"Of course I'll stay, if you want me to. We can finish our meal there if you like."

Then the waiter was back with two large cartons, both plainly marked. Yume couldn't help but smile at her companion then as he wrote a check for the meal and tipped the waiter a hefty sum.

He was so good to her all of the time, like a real boyfriend should be. Always thinking of her, always so kind-hearted and easy-going with the people around him…She shook her head. It had been a mistake to work the mission this way. They'd barely been together for a week and she was already falling head over heels. If she didn't finish this up soon she was going to be looking at a very awkward and mutually painful break-up when the time came for them to part ways.

"Yume, here, let me get your coat…"

She gave him a pleasant smile as he helped her into her coat and hefted the cartons in one hand, draping the other across her shoulders. He kissed her cheek as they walked out of the restaurant, making their way to where his car was parked.

_I'm not falling head over heels,_ Yume thought as she climbed into the car. _I've already hit the bottom_.

* * *

"I take it your mission was successful?"

He looked up from his meal of cold ramen and gave his companion a look that said; quite clearly 'you're joking, right?'

"Jeeze, I was just asking. I haven't heard anything over the radio waves yet so I just thought I would make sure."

"Rosenkreuz won't report the murder. They don't want the police sniffing around in their business any more than Kritiker does."

"Point taken."

They sat in silence for a few moments while one ate and the other contemplated. Then,

"There's one thing that I don't quite understand."

"There are a great many things that you don't understand. Which one are you talking about right now?"

Ignoring the comment, the first continued on.

"I was just wondering why she didn't see you coming, you know? I mean, she's supposed to be able to see the future and all that crap but she died just like anyone else would have."

"You haven't been paying attention lately have you?"

"I have too! Just…ah…not so much when everyone was talking about that."

"Precognition is like standing in front of one-way glass. If you're on one side you can see into the room beyond but you can't see your own reflections. On the other side, all you see is yourself. So those with clairvoyance can see what happens to other people, but not to themselves."

"Oh. I guess that makes sense."

"That is also why, when we're planning these missions, we have to take the target out when they are completely alone. Otherwise they might see the reactions of those around them and deduce, from that, what is going to happen to them."

"Sounds complicated."

"Only for someone like you."

"Hey!"

"Suichi, Jin, keep it down in there would you? I'm trying to do my homework!"

"Gomen Kiro!"

"You see?" Suichi asked. "You're so loud you bothered Kiro."

"Well I wouldn't have been loud if you weren't sitting there insulting me!" Jin snapped, crossing his arms.

"Fighting again I see."

The two of them looked up to see a tall dark-haired woman walk into their kitchen, an amused smile on her face.

"Hey, Siamese! Long time no see. What've you got for us this time?" Jin asked cheerfully.

"Persia has a mission for you."

Suichi looked at her expectantly, waiting.

"Aren't you going to call Kiro and Tanake?" Jin inquired.

"No. I think Suichi is the one for this mission." The woman called Siamese offered the solemn young man a smile. "Rosenkreuz is in the process of recruiting another precog. This one is untrained so he should be even easier to kill than Moraven."

Suichi nodded his understanding, already standing up.

"Where?"

Siamese handed him a file, her purple nail polish gleaming with deep plum and indigo hues against the white paper.

Suichi opened the file, ignoring the fact that Jin was looking over his shoulder. The more excitable of the two gave a short laugh, clapping his companion on the back.

"Looks like you came all the way back for nothing Suichi." He said. "You've got to fly back to America first thing in the morning."

"Thank you for stating the obvious Jin." Suichi closed the file. "I haven't unpacked yet. I'll catch the first flight tomorrow."

"Very good." Siamese turned to go, but paused at the door. "Be careful with this one Suichi." She advised. "We think he has a Rosenkreuz agent with him already. Remember, you have to get him alone."

"I remember."

When she was gone he left Jin standing in the kitchen and went up the stairs to his room. His gun was still sitting where he'd left it on top of the dresser and he picked it up, checking the chamber before putting it down once again. With a heavy sigh he moved to lay down on his bed, pillowing his head on his arms.

He didn't want to go to sleep. Not yet. He kept having nightmares, watching blood splatter across the kitchen table, the way the birds had flown up, startled, from their feed at the sound of the gunshot. And the way she'd just slumped down in her chair, dead but still in a parody of life, tea and cake still in front of her as if waiting to be eaten…

Suichi Takatori had been a member of the group known as Weiß for three years now. He was the leader, the strongest person on the team, the fastest, the one who always took control in a crisis. But he was beginning to wear down, as all hunters wore down eventually under the strain of death and the weight of the blood on his hands. He was fourth generation, his own father had been a member of the first generation team and was the current Persia.

Sooner or later Suichi wasn't going to be able to kill anymore. It was all he'd done since the day he graduated from high school, it was the only thing he was really any good at now. So on that day when he found he couldn't pull the trigger, when he realized he was too damned and jaded and empty and it hurt too much to take out the next target, he wondered, as all hunters wondered,

What was he going to do?

* * *

Williams swallowed, visibly nervous as the doctor led him down the corridor. He could already hear the inhuman wails coming from the room at the end of the hallway and he had no desire to move any closer. In fact, if Valhendt hadn't asked him to do this he wouldn't even be in Ireland at all, much less moving toward the loud, high-pitched screeching sounds and hard thumps that were punctuated by those terrible howls of rage. But this would clear his debt with the German forever, and if all it took was transporting a crazy teenager overseas…

"You're sure you can get him under control?" He asked the doctor, for what was probably the fifth time since they'd begun their little journey.

The man smiled patiently and patted Williams' shoulder.

"Of course. We discovered a certain cocktail that works quite nicely to immobilize him. It's a muscle relaxant, causes almost complete paralysis within mere moments of being administered. We only use it when we absolutely have to though, as it can have some rather serious side effects."

Williams decided he didn't want to know what those side effects were. If they were bad enough that a doctor hesitated to use them on someone as crazy as the man they were off to see, he didn't want to know.

"There was a nun here a few days ago." The doctor said suddenly. "Seemed to know him quite well."

"Oh?"

"Mmhm. When I told her there was nothing we could do for him she asked that I make him as comfortable as possible. She seemed surprised to discover that he was being moved from the hospital. Are you sure he doesn't have any family?"

"Positive. He killed them all himself. Mother, father, even his little sister, all murdered in a rage. There was blood everywhere, all over the house, pooling on the floor…it was a mess." Williams shivered a little at the memory. The boy had looked crazy when they found him, his golden eyes glazed, pale skin blood-streaked, hair stiff where he'd tugged at it.

"Yes, I remember." the doctor sighed. "It just seemed that she knew him somehow. She was almost, motherly."

"You know nuns." Williams gave a high, nervous laugh. "They're always trying to be someone's mother."

They were standing in front of the door now and he could see it move a little every time the boy inside threw himself against it. Four security guards were stationed around them, holding cattle prods, ready to move in.

"Now Mr. Williams, if you'll just step back so that we can work, you'll have your Irish boy wrapped up and ready to go in a matter of mere moments."

Williams obeyed, moving so that he was well out of the line of fire of whatever was about to come out of that room. He watched as the guards positioned themselves, two on either side of the door and two farther back, against the opposite wall. He knew for a fact that there were four more at the end of the hallway, just in case the madman managed to get past these ones. If that happened…

"Ready gentlemen?" the doctor inquired. When the guards nodded he motioned for the one to the right of the door to begin drawing back the numerous locks that held it firmly shut. Then the door was unlocked, with nothing holding it in place, and everyone was deathly silent as they waited, waited…

Sitting on the plane ride back to America Williams shuddered at the memory of what had come out of the room at the psychiatric ward. Wild ginger-colored hair, scarred, blood-streaked arms and legs, a naked body that was horribly maimed…

He bit his tongue to keep the images from overwhelming him. It had taken all four guards, plus another three from the hallway in order to subdue the madman. He'd bitten off the fingers of a couple of the guards, snagged a piece of an ear from one, a chunk of an arm from another. In the time it took to inject the muscle relaxant into his blood stream, and for it to take effect, he had collected enough body parts from his attackers to teach an anatomy class for a week.

And then, just before the Irishman had passed out he'd turned his eerie golden gaze on Williams. Recognition had burned in those strange eyes, and intelligence had appeared where madness had reigned only moments before.

"You." The boy growled. "It's YOU!"

_He would have killed me then and there if he could have_. Williams thought, feeling slightly nauseated at the thought. _He would have ripped my throat out, splattered my blood across the walls and reveled in it._

He shook his head. He didn't want to think about the madman, or the fact that the killer was currently locked in the hold of a plane bound for Germany at that very moment. Because if he thought about that he would just remember the look in Jei's eyes as he prepared to lunge, that glittering, murderous look as his hands curled into fists and he had taken a half-step forward.

There was no doubt in William's mind that, if the drugs had not taken the opportunity to kick in at that point, he would be nothing but a pool of blood, a tangle of limbs, and a splatter of brains on the wall.

* * *

Mmmm, brains. I have to admit, Farfarello is my favorite character to write. He's just so….fun! Anyway, you know the drill so I'll leave things to you…

Next Chapter: Arrivals, Departures, Discoveries and Escapes

Look for the update starting on September 7th


	4. Arrivals, Departures, etc

Author's Notes: Nadda

Disclaimer: I don't own Weiß Kreuz. Rated R for everything. AU and not

Holier than coffin bait

Arrivals, Departures, Discoveries and Escapes

_He was staring into a single golden eye, and the madness there was enough to put a shiver of fear in his gut. The face swimming before him was heavily scarred, the lips thin, cheekbones high and sharp as knives. There was blood splashed on the stranger's chin and as he watched the madman licked it away, watching him for a reaction._

_"God cries." The other murmured, and his voice was husky. "He mourns."_

_The pale man extended a hand, pointing and he followed the gesture. The sight before his eyes made his stomach roll, made sweat glaze his palms. He swallowed heavily and forced himself not to look away._

_Long pale hair, limbs twisted, all spattered with blood and gore. Once upon a time she'd been a sixteen year old girl; now she was only so much meat._

_"I will punish Him."_

_"You're fucking off your rail." _

_He turned at the new voice, finding its rough accent strangely familiar. Smoke billowed and blew into his face, suffocating. The man standing a few feet away in the darkness had fiery orange hair and mocking green eyes._

_"What's wrong Braddy? Farfie's playing doesn't turn you on?"_

_He opened his mouth to reply with something icy and cutting but closing it abruptly as the sound of retching reached his ears. He twisted around to see the dark-haired boy kneeling in between the church pews, decorating the tiled floor with the contents of his stomach. _

_"Poor chibi. I don't think he likes Farfie's artwork."_

_"Shut the fuck up Schuldig."_

"What was that?"

Bradley blinked, the vision receding until he was left staring into Mac's concerned face. They were standing in the practice ring of the gym and the man that Brad was supposed to be sparring with was standing a few feet away, looking uncertain. Mac had a claw-like grip on his wrist and his eyes were dark with anxiety.

"Sorry?" Bradley murmured.

"You said something. Are you feeling all right? For a minute there it looked like there was nobody at home."

For a moment the fighter simply stared at his trainer with a surprised look. Then he flashed a friendly smile and shrugged, folding his arms across his chest.

"Just spaced out. Sorry Mac. Were you saying something to me?"

"I was just trying to tell you that you have five matches coming up in the next month. If you win at least three of them you'll be able to take that vacation you were talking about before."

"That's great." Bradley grinned, excitement flaring in his amber gaze. "Wait until I tell Yume."

"Tell me what?"

They turned to see the young Japanese woman standing at the edge of the ring, her long dark hair pulled back into a high ponytail. Bradley's face lit up and he hopped out of the ring, pulling her in for a quick welcoming kiss.

"I didn't expect you to come by today." He said, sliding an arm around her waist.

She smiled, reaching up to brush sweaty bangs out of his eyes.

"I was in the neighborhood for work and thought I would stop by." She glanced at Mac, then back at her boyfriend. "So, what is it that you were going to tell me?"

"I have five matches coming up." Bradley explained happily. "If I win three of them then we can take that vacation trip we were talking about the other day. You know, go to the city you were telling me about. In Germany."

"That sounds wonderful."

Yumemiru hugged him, trying to ignore the sudden painful squeezing sensation in her chest. A month! She'd been hoping for a little more time to get to know him before she had to follow through with her plan. Now she only had a matter of weeks to reveal herself to him and to convince him to show her what he could do in return. Then it would be time to explain about the school, give him the offer from Rosenkreuz and…break his heart.

She closed her eyes and swallowed. Why did it have to be so soon?

Completely unaware of the chaos that filled Yume's mind, Brad hugged her in return and, after a moment, pulled away to smile down at her.

"I'm done for now." He said. "Do you want to go get something to eat?"

She smiled at him and when she spoke her voice was calm and even, as if there was nothing wrong.

"I'd love to."

* * *

The crate arrived at half past three on Wednesday morning. It was large but not very heavy and had a large stamp on the side that said _Fragile_. There was also a sticker on the top with information as to where it had come from, where it was going, and who it was for. The name of the recipient was Valhendt and the package itself had come all the way from Ireland.

There were three men standing around the crate, regarding it with thoughtful expressions. Their skin was slick with sweat and they moved a little stiffly, as if they had been working all day long.

"Is this the last one?"

"Ja. It goes to the Shipping Gate 3A. Why don't you load it onto the trolley and we'll just drive it down there? Easier than trying to carry the damned thing all that way."

"Great. Bring the trolley over and we'll load it up."

Two of the men lifted the cart while the third retrieved the trolley.

"This is really light." One of them commented.

"Yeah. I wonder what's in it."

They glanced at each other and, slowly, they began to smile. One of them whipped out a crow bar and knelt down, slipping the edge of the lip of the crate.

"Fifty bucks says its some kind of expensive china."

"You kidding? A crate like this? It's some kind of exotic pet."

"I say you're both wrong. It's probably something stupid like a bunch of expensive figurines."

"Well then let's just find out."

The lid lifted a little and a crack appeared, a small space of darkness. Three heads leaned in expectantly for a moment before one of the men cursed.

"Get the light out of the trolley."

After a few minutes they adjusted the angle of the flashlight they'd retrieved from the trolley and…

The beam reflected in the circle of a pair of golden eyes.

"What the hell…?"

A hand erupted out of the opening in the crate, seizing the closest man by the throat. Blood spurted as long fingernails dug into the skin, crushing the windpipe and ripping flesh until the spine appeared, wet and glistening through the blood. The man swayed, the expression on his face shocked as he fell backward, the light fading from his eyes. His companions remained where they were, too shocked to move as a second arm followed the first, grasping blindly.

The crate erupted suddenly in an explosion of splintered wood and nails, a pale figure flying up out of it with arms outstretched. Both remaining men screamed wordlessly, scrambling backwards with fear in their eyes.

With a howl of rage the madman flung himself toward his accidental rescuers, golden eyes filled with hatred.

Twenty minutes later one of the other workers found what was left of the three men. They were splattered all over the loading area, their bodies almost unrecognizable as human remains. Blood pooled on the floor and there were bloody footprints leading off into the darkness. Eyes wide with terror the living man ran, his heart pounding in his chest as he fled the heavy scent of death that pervaded the scene.

He called the police, unaware that there was a crazed Irish boy hiding somewhere in the shadows, his hands stained with blood as he whispered the words of a prayer over and over to himself.

"Hail Mary, full of grace the Lord is with thee…"

* * *

The teenager was sitting in the dingy hallway of the apartment building, hands clasped loosely around his knees. Inside his parents were fighting again, their voices drifting out through the cracks, deafening. He shivered and pressed his face down, shutting his eyes and covering his ears with his hands. The noise continued unabated, this time echoing inside of his mind until he could think of nothing else.

_There's nothing wrong with him! He's just fine! He's smart and caring and he'd never do anything to hurt anyone._

That was his mother, always defending him. He smiled ruefully. She was a tiny woman barely topping five feet with a waist that he could span with his hands. Despite that, ever since his…gifts had first become evident she had fought like a tiger to protect him from…

_There's something wrong with him. He's a freak, a monster. If we don't do something…put him away…make sure he can't use his abilities…_

…his stepfather. The man hated him, was afraid of him. Given the chance, the teenager knew the man would ship him off to the nearest mental institution for the rest of his life.

_You can't do that. He's my son! If you only knew, if you'd seen him as a child you would understand that there's nothing wrong with him. It's just the way he is._

_He's not normal. He'll never be normal. For all we know these abilities are only going to intensify until one day he's so strong that it will take less than a thought to hurt people. Power corrupts! Don't you think that if he finds out he can play with people's minds on a whim that it might affect him!_

_He would never do that! He's…_

His mother's voice fell silent and he closed his eyes, feeling tears spill against his lashes.

"Margo! Margo what's the matter?"

He opened his eyes with a gasp, scrambling to his feet and reaching for the doorknob. He tugged on it, tried to turn it and cursed when he realized that his stepfather had locked him out yet again.

"Let me in! What's wrong?" He slammed his fist against the door, feeling desperation beginning to well up inside of him. "Mother! Mother what is it?"

The door opened and he was thrown backwards, his back hitting the wall with a painful thump. He stared up at his stepfather with wide, angry eyes, hands clenching into fists as he struggled to his feet.

"Where's my mother? What happened to her?"

"You little shit." The man moved toward him, reaching for him. "What have you done?"

He dodged past his stepfather and rushed into the small living room, eyes scanning the shabby furniture.

"Mother…." He said the word in a voice that was almost a sob. She was lying across the couch, head tilted back, staring blankly at the ceiling. He moved toward her, shaking badly, almost unable to walk. "Mother what…?"

She was breathing but there was no response when he moved his hand in front of her eyes. When he reached out tentatively with his mind he found nothing but blankness, a gray mist swirling before him with nothing inside of it.

"Mother…"

"Get out. Get out you freak! You did this to her. It was you!"

His stepfather was hauling him away and he fought back, kicking, flailing, trying to escape. He wasn't strong enough to get away, to get back to his mother's side. Instead he found himself thrown into the hallway once again. His head slammed into the wall hard enough that he saw a swirl of red stars. The last thing he was aware of was his stepfather aiming a vicious kick at his ribs and the explosion of pain that spread outward from his chest. Then he felt a trickle of something hot sliding down his neck and the darkness ate his vision until there was nothing left.

* * *

Suichi despised planes. He regarded them with the same fearful hatred that people regarded the things that they were phobic about. The fact that he was sitting in one for the fourth time in a week was astonishing. This, he told himself, was more than facing your fears. This was ridiculous, idiotic, pointless and…well, utterly necessary. Damnit. There was actually a _reason_ why he was doing this, which was why he hadn't gotten off before the plane left the airport.

_I've been killing people for years now_. He thought dryly. _But the part of my job that I hate the most isn't being elbow-deep in blood, it's having to get on a plane._

There was definitely something wrong with that.

"Attention all passengers," the intercom rang out. "We are approaching our destination and will be coming in to land in approximately fifteen minutes. Please fasten your seatbelts and prepare for the descent."

Suichi watched the other passengers fastening their seatbelts and tested his own. He hadn't bothered to take it off more than twice during the entire flight. After a moment he forced his hands to the armrests, fully aware that he was gripping them so tightly that his knuckles were turning white.

_You're being stupid_. He told himself.

_Stupid, sure._ A voice somewhere in his head agreed. _But after surviving more suicide missions than should be humanly possible, you'd rather be stupid than plunge to your death in a ridiculous freak accident_.

Of course, he couldn't disagree with that logic so he thought it best to just shut up and wait for safety to arrive.

They hit a little turbulence then and he winced, trying not to whimper. Instead he focused on his impending mission. In less than two hours he would be preparing to kill the precog known as Bradley Crawford, a man who, as of yet, had absolutely nothing to do with Rosenkreuz. Of course, as Persia had pointed out often enough to ensure that Suichi had memorized the words,

"Sometimes you have to stop the fire before it starts and that means taking precautions. If one death will stop hundreds, then that should be enough."

And, Suichi thought with a sigh, it was. Or at least, that's what he had convinced himself over the years. After all, if he didn't think that way, he might just go mad.

* * *

The little boy was standing on a street corner, a thin jacket the only thing separating him from the cold air. He was crying softly, the tears making tracks down his cheeks to drip from his sharp chin. His clothes were ragged and dirt smudged his face and hands, making him almost unrecognizable. If his parents had seen him, they would not have known him for their son.

Not that they'd treated him like he was their son in the first place.

"Hey kid, what are you doing out here?"

He turned to see one of the old homeless men, Tsuko, standing a few feet away. The man was holding an old shopping back in one hand and a grimy sandwich in the other.

"Nothing." The little boy replied, wiping the tears from his eyes with the back of a filthy sleeve.

"Hey, you hungry?" Tsuko inquired. "There's a whole bin full of sandwiches back behind the American fast food place on the corner. If you want a decent meal you could try over there."

"Thanks." The boy said softly, trying not to shiver as he slipped back into the alleyway. He limped a little as he moved, his face a mask of pain. After a few paces he stopped and looked down at his foot, feeling a whisper of despair rush through him.

He'd been trying to get his hands on some scraps from one of the local delis. When one of the men brought out the trash bin he was ready and waiting in the shadows, trying not to let the hunger of his stomach outweigh his good sense. If the man knew there was someone was out here, he wouldn't leave the food.

The man deposited the trash in the larger dumpster and disappeared back into the warmth of the shop. Delighted at the opportunity, the boy had darted forward and hopped up into the dumpster, digging through the bags for something good.

He hadn't seen the dog until it was too late. Now the wound was beginning to fester, oozing pus down his leg. It hurt so badly he could barely stand to put weight on it at all, but there was little he could do about that.

With a tiny, pained sigh he pulled away from the building he was leaning against and hobbled further, toward the promise of food. It would be cold, greasy and probably full of flies but…

His stomach growled loudly. If the fast food place proved to be a bust he knew a pizza shop not too far away, and they always had good leftovers.

* * *

"I have to move the deadline up." Yume said softly into the telephone, watching the doorway to ensure Bradley didn't walk in on her.

"What do you mean you have to move the deadline up? I thought we agreed that three months was the right timeline."

"Look, he's progressing faster than I'd anticipated. He has a vacation in a little over a month and it'll be the only one for quite a while. It's the only real opportunity that we're going to get."

"Can you do it?"

Yumemiru sighed, closing her eyes for a moment as she fought with a rush of nausea. She didn't want to do this at all but…

"Yeah, I think I can swing it. I still have to tell him about what I can do and talk to him about the school but…I think I can make it work."

"Why can't you just tweak him a little bit and take care of all that right now? That would give him a month to get accustomed to the idea before you dropped him on the doorstep."

"It doesn't work that way." She rolled her eyes. "It would wear off when his body's natural chemistry overcame the imbalances that I created. He would be far less cooperative then and I wouldn't be around to doctor him back up. Not to mention he'd be harder to trick a second time around."

"Fine. Do whatever you need to but remember that this has to be for real. You can't just leave him here if he doesn't want to be here."

"I know that." Yume snapped. "Probably better than you do." She ran her fingers through her hair. "Look, I can take care of it but I want it made clear that after this, I'm done."

"Why Yume, would I go back on our contract?"

"If you thought it would serve your purposes, yes."

"Well it won't serve my purposes to have you angry at me Yume. Don't worry about it, the minute we're certain that you've done your job I'll transfer your file and you'll be on your own, just the way you want it."

"Good. I'm going to hold you to that."

Then she raised her head, hearing the familiar sound of her boyfriend's footsteps in the hallway.

"I have to go now. I'll be in contact."

She put the phone back in its cradle and plastered a wide smile on her face as Bradley walked into the kitchen. He returned the smile upon seeing her and held up a hand in greeting.

"Hey honey. How do you feel about staying in tonight? I thought we could rent a few movies, break out the popcorn…" He trailed off with a sharp gasp, his eyes going unfocused as a vision assaulted him.

"Brad?" Yume moved toward him slowly, putting concern into her expression as she came to stand in front of him.

He came back with a jerk, stumbling slightly as his vision faded and he was left staring down into her face. He looked slightly disoriented, as if he'd been in an entirely different environment only a few moments before.

"Yume…what?"

"Are you all right?" She pressed, careful not to touch him. Physical contact this soon after a vision could trigger a second episode, and she did not need him seeing their future together, or lack there of.

"I'm fine I just…"

She took a deep breath. This was it. Now or never…

"This is like, the fiftieth time you've done that since we met." She pointed out. "What keeps happening to you? It's not medical is it?" She made sure to put a timbre of fear into her voice, hoping to invoke his need to reassure her without using her gift.

It worked like a charm.

"Maybe we should put a hold on the movies." Bradley said reluctantly, leading her to the kitchen table. "I guess…we've been going out for a while now. I should probably tell you…"

Satisfied that the conversation was going in the direction that she wanted it to, Yume allowed Brad to nudge her into a chair. Then she proceeded to act surprised and interested as, for the next half hour, her boyfriend told her things that she already knew.

* * *

Three of the four members of Weiß were sitting in the darkened room of the safe house, staring up at Siamese as she dictated their new assignment. Apparently some men at the airline had turned up dead and Persia suspected that it was somehow related to the mission he'd sent Suichi on. The fact that it was going to take three men to pursue this lead where only Suichi was needed for the other was…telling.

"Because of the intensity of the attacks we believe that this boy is responsible."

A photo appeared on the screen, a pale young boy with scars all over his face and spiky white hair. His eyes were a strange golden amber and they gleamed into the camera with an eerie light.

"His name is Jei. Just last year he butchered his entire family in a fit of rage. The profile matches, and our sources discovered that he is no longer in the mental institution where he was being contained."

Jin glanced at his two teammates, then up at Siamese with a disbelieving expression on his face.

"He's like, ten years old."

"Twelve actually." Siamese corrected. "The depressants they have him on have stunted his growth somewhat. His age, however, should not matter. Despite the fact that he looks like a child he is very dangerous. To date, he's killed six people that we know of and with these airline workers that makes it twelve. Three were killed in the storage area, three more on a path leading out of the airport."

"So we're supposed to….?" Jin raised his eyebrows, questioning.

"Kill him." Siamese finished. "We believe he is hiding in this area, just outside of the airport." She gestured to the map on the screen. "All you have to do is find him and kill him."

"Oh swell." Jin said mockingly. "We'll just go hunt down Mr. Happy-Dagger right now then and we'll give you a call when we've put his head on a pike."

Ignoring the sarcasm the tall woman handed them the file she'd been holding since she walked in the door. Jin scowled but took the file anyway; Weiß wasn't given a choice as to which missions they were going to take. If he ever got to the main offices that rule was the first thing that he was going to change. After all, if they had to kill people, shouldn't they get to pick the ones they were going to kill?

"You will all be leaving first thing in the morning. Any questions?"

Silence.

"All right then. Good luck, I'll see you when you get back."

"Man, what are we going to do without Suichi?" Kiro grumbled.

"Yeah. I mean, if it takes all three of us for this mission I'd feel better having him with us." That was Tanake, his eyes filled with anxiety.

"Relax guys. We got the easy one. Suichi's busy trying to sneak up on a precog. All we have to do is kill some bloodthirsty Irish kid. No big deal. We'll be back here before Suichi's even found his target and then when he gets back we can rub it in his face that we had a second mission while he was still fiddling around with just one."

He grinned and his companions relaxed somewhat at the lightness of his tone. Then they moved back up into the main part of the house, off to begin packing for their flight. They had no way of truly knowing what they were getting themselves into but…maybe they were better blessed in their ignorance. Yeah, right.

* * *

Blood. He could feel it, smell it, taste it on his tongue. Somewhere nearby there was something living, something big enough for him to spend some time going after. He was getting sick of killing rats and birds, and the blood had long since dried from the men he'd killed in the cargo area of the airport.

His thoughts went back to the mental institution, to the man he had seen when they opened the doors to his cell. That man, the one who had helped to subdue him in the first place. The man who took Sister Ruth away from him.

He gave a low snarl in the darkness, his golden eyes gleaming with malice as he put the tip of his dagger between his lips. That man was going to have to die soon. His death would be satisfying, soothing to the voices that nattered on and on in the silence. More than that the death would hurt God.

"You see?" He whispered, his voice hoarse. "You see? You hurt me so I will hurt you. I will make you cry. I will take your children one by one and make them bleed, make them beg, make them break. It will be good, to hurt them."

_Thou Shalt Not Kill_

He snorted, amusement dancing in his eyes as he shifted through the shadows. He moved like smoke, following the blood and the beating heart that filled his ears with its thumping.

"I will make that heart stop." He murmured, pleased with himself and his new prey. "I will make it shudder and cease to beat and then…" He grinned. "Then I will make you cry."

And he disappeared once again, darting through the narrow corridors and back alleys that made up his new hunting ground.

* * *

Sorry this chapter was a little later than I'd expected. I've been pretty busy at school and I didn't really have the chance to edit and post.

Next Chapter: Hands in Chains, Death in a Smile

Look for the update starting on the 21st of September


	5. Hands in Chains, Death in a Smile

Author's Notes: Nadda

Disclaimer: I don't own Weiß Kreuz. Rated R for everything. AU and not

Roasty Toasty Porcupine Toes!

Chapter Five

Hands in Chains, Death in a Smile

Brad Crawford wanted to scream, to break something, to do anything to break the awful silence that had settled in the kitchen of his apartment. Yume was sitting across from him with a stunned expression on her face. He'd told her everything, every secret he'd ever harbored about his life, his abilities and his past. For almost an hour he'd talked to her about his visions and the way he'd used them to make his career as a boxer. Now she was looking at him as though she'd never seen him before and he couldn't help but wonder if this had been a mistake…

Before another thought could glide through his brain and into the chaos this conversation had created, his girlfriend surprised him by throwing her arms around his neck.

"Oh I'm so glad!" She exclaimed.

Brad blinked, not quite sure how he was supposed to react.

"You ah…you're glad?"

"Of course I am!" She pulled back to show him a brilliant smile. "_I_ can do things too! Do you have any idea how wonderful it is to find someone who actually understands what it's like to be able to _do_ things no one else can do?"

He didn't breathe for a full minute. Then he inhaled, exhaled, and struggled for something to say.

"What do you mean you can _do _things?"

She grinned and grabbed his hand, dragging him toward the window that looked into the apartment across the street.

"I can make people do anything I want them to." She explained. "Watch. I can make Mrs. Nelsen throw her potted plant out the window for no reason."

Stunned, Brad watched as his girlfriend gazed silently across the way into the next apartment. A few seconds later the elderly Mrs. Nelsen appeared, a confused expression on her wrinkled face. Without preamble she plucked her beloved aloe plant from its place and promptly chucked it out the window. It landed on the road with the sound of shattering pottery, leaving a very surprised old woman to stare down at it.

"See?" Yume looked quite pleased with herself.

"But…but how…?"

"I can manipulate people's thought processes." Yume replied. "It's a little bit like hot-wiring a car I guess."

"You can make them do _anything_?"

"Just about." Yume shrugged. "If it goes against their natural inclinations though it won't last for very long. Their body will begin to fight what I've done to it and eventually they'll be able to ignore whatever suggestions I try to plant in their mind."

"Wow." Brad leaned against the countertop. It was his turn to be shocked into utter silence. After a few moments he looked back at her, a goofy grin on his face. "What are the odds huh?"

Yume hugged him again, smiling brilliantly.

"I think this is cause for a celebration." She said, moving to grab her purse. "I'll go pick up a pizza at the place down the street okay?"

"Pepperoni and sausage. I'll set the table and make a salad. Hurry back all right?"

"You got it." Yume winked at him and disappeared into the hallway. A few moments later Brad heard the front door open and close. His mind was still a whirl of chaos and confusion but…well, he was happy. That was all that really mattered, wasn't it?

Feeling better than he had in several weeks the boxer set about laying out plates and napkins and retrieving lettuce from the refrigerator. It was as if a massive weight had been lifted from his shoulders, leaving him free and content. He'd finally found someone he could be himself with and…

The door clicked open and he turned around, an amused expression on his face.

"Forget something Yu…" He trailed off as an unfamiliar figure appeared in the doorway. "Who are you?"

"I'm sorry." It was a man, and he was holding a gun in his hand as he advanced on his victim. "I don't want to do this."

Bradley opened his mouth to say something and stopped as his eyesight became dim, the world slipping away from him.

_"Bradley!" It was Yume, screaming at him as she ran into the apartment. There was desperation in her eyes, and a strange, gut-wrenching fear…_

He dodged the first bullet out of pure instinct, throwing himself to one side in a smooth motion that almost put him through the side of the refrigerator. His attacker cursed and swerved to aim once more, finger squeezing on the trigger.

"Bradley!" Yume slammed into the strange man, knocking his arm to the side so that the second bullet went into the cabinet instead of into Bradley's forehead. Then she grabbed the man by the arm, swinging him around so that she was gazing into his eyes. "Drop your gun." She said in a soft voice.

"Wha…" The man gasped as his gun dropped from his fingers. "What are you…?"

"You will forget why you came here." Yume growled. "You will take the first flight back to wherever you've come from and you will _never_ come here again. Do you understand?"

The man blinked, his eyes slightly glazed.

"What am I doing here?" He murmured. "I'm sorry, am I bothering you?" He moved to the door. "Please, forgive me. I'll leave right now." He turned, hesitating at the doorway. "Am I forgetting something?" He asked.

"No." Yume assured him. "You're not forgetting anything. Just do as I told you and everything will be all right."

"Oh." He smiled. "Okay. Sorry I bothered you." He left as quietly as he had come, seemingly unconcerned with everything that had just occurred. When he was gone Yume turned to Bradley, her eyes still wide.

"Oh god," she whispered. "If I hadn't come back to get my wallet…"

He hugged her, becoming aware now of the fact that his heart was pounding in his chest and she was shivering against him.

"I don't understand." He said softly. "Why would someone want to kill me?" Then something seemed to occur to him and he pulled back to look down at her. "How did you know what to do? You were so calm…you didn't even hesitate."

Yume drew away from him slightly, looking somewhat uncomfortable.

"I went to a special school." She said.

"What? What do you mean?"

Yumemiru smiled slightly, cursing the world in silence as she struggled to think of something to say. She hadn't expected to have to work this out so soon. She'd wanted a few more days before she introduced him to the idea of the school. Gods, she just wanted some more time with him before…

"You'd probably better sit down." She said finally. She waited until he had done so before moving to sit beside him, grasping for a place to begin. Then she began to explain that there was a place, a place for people like them to learn, where you didn't have to be anything other than yourself…

_God what a bunch of bull shit_ She thought bitterly. But she continued talking just the same, her mind focused on the brochure for a college in Japan, where she would study what she wanted and find out what it was like to be just like everyone else…

* * *

At the same time that Suichi Takatori was failing his mission in America, the rest of his teammates were in Germany preparing to take care of their own target. They'd picked up the trail in the airport, following the line of deaths and mysterious destruction into the back alleys of the city. Their target was hiding somewhere in the darkness of the warehouse district, killing indiscriminately, cutting a swathe in the thick crowd of humanity that littered the streets.

"We've got to be getting close." Tanake murmured, covering his nose and mouth against the stench of death that filled the air. Flies buzzed in black clouds over the bodies that littered the streets, their humming the only sound to be heard in the unearthly stillness.

They rounded a corner and Jin stopped in his tracks, staring at the building that sat before them. It was a church, small and almost lost in the shadow of the two massive warehouses surrounding it. From where they stood the members of Weiß could see the bodies of the priest and the altar boys lying in the courtyard. The arms and legs had been torn off, throats and intestines ripped out in a welter of gore.

"I think we've found where he's gone to ground." Jin said softly.

"A church?" Kiro demanded, wide-eyed. "Why would a murderer hide out in a church?"

"You remember what the file said?" Jin asked, leading them slowly through the courtyard. "He was raised Catholic and he's supposed to be some kind of religious fanatic. Makes sense, if you think about it." Then he motioned for silence as they edged around the bodies and began mounting the steps toward the church doors.

They found another body just inside. It was a woman this time, lying face-down with a rosary still clasped tightly in one hand. She looked as though she'd been in the middle of prayer when she was attacked, barely having enough time to stumble into the aisle before she was murdered.

_He likes to mutilate his victims_ Jin thought absently as he glanced over the woman's body. _These aren't just murders; he wants someone to suffer_.

He scanned the room carefully for any sign of their target. There was no sign of life in the massive chamber, just spatters of blood here and there and the odd pieces of furniture that had been overturned. Someone _had_ turned the cross upside down over the altar and Jin shivered. It looked disturbingly unnatural, even to someone who wasn't Christian.

_All right, where are you?_

"Looks like he bolted." Kiro muttered.

"Hush." Jin snapped, shooting the other man a glare. He surveyed the room once more and, after a moment, he shook his head. They would have to search the place from top to bottom. He gestured to the others, indicating that they would stay together and look for the target. After seeing the reports on the other attacks he wasn't about to have them split up and die one by one.

_Time to go hunting…_

He smiled darkly and adjusted his grip on his weapon, a smooth piece of wood that was four feet long and had a blade on one end. It squeaked under the pressure of the leather gloves he wore to handle it and he felt a shiver of anticipation slide down his spine. In his mind, their quarry didn't have a chance.

* * *

He woke up in a hospital bed. The first thing he noticed was the bandage wrapped tightly around his head. The second thing was that _someone_ had tied his arms and legs to the mattress so that he couldn't get up. For a moment panic chilled him, put a lump in his throat and a weight in the bottom of his stomach. Then he swallowed, closed his eyes, and tried to think.

_What happened? Mother, where's my mother?_

A flash of memory slipped through his mind, the image of his mother lying lifelessly on the floor, eyes open and staring blankly. The panic came back in a suffocating rush and he let out a terrified sob as tears sprang to his eyes.

"Mother!" He cried. "Where's my mother!" He started to fight against his restraints, ignoring the terrible pounding in his head as he twisted to bite at the cloth that bound him.

The door opened and three men hurried into the room. They were wearing uniforms and they moved to hold him down, tightening the restraints and keeping him still so that they could inject him with something. Almost immediately his thoughts became scattered and he felt somewhat sleepy. He struggled to keep his eyes open, tried to reach for his gift to fight the men off. Then his body gave out and he went limp, no longer able to summon the strength to resist.

"My…mother…" he whispered.

One of the men scowled.

"He doesn't remember what he did." He muttered. "He put his mother in a coma and he doesn't even know that he did it."

"No….didn't…not me…"

Another of the men shrugged, checking his vital signs briefly before moving to the door.

"I wouldn't worry about it. He can feel guilty about it later on. We're just supposed to keep him sedated for now."

"Guilty…"

"Yeah, that's right kid. You're guilty. Put your mom in a coma and drove your step dad right over the edge of sanity. Maybe we'll bring him down later and let him rough you up a little."

"I didn't…mean to." He sobbed weakly, feeling tears slide down his cheeks. "… didn't mean it…sorry…mother...please…"

He heard a disgusted snarl before someone's fist slammed into his cheek. He saw stars behind his eyes then, and he felt warmth blossoming across his skin as he slid back into the blessed darkness.

As he drifted away once again the only thing he could think about was the emptiness in his mother's eyes. Somehow he'd done that, he'd hurt her, he was the one who had done all of these bad things. He was guilty and one day, he knew, he would have to be punished.

_I'm guilty…_

* * *

Suichi was in the airport, still caught in the strange daze that the woman had put him in when his cell phone rang. Confused and still mostly out of it he dragged the device out of his pocket and pressed the large green button that said 'talk'. It seemed to take a great deal of effort to raise it to his ear and then he couldn't think of what he was supposed to say. Finally he managed to clear his throat, emitting a single, strangled sound…

"Ugh…"

"Calico. We've been trying to contact you for over an hour now! Where the hell are you?"

"Mmm." Suichi looked around, seeming to see the airport for the first time. "I think I'm at the airport."

"You think? You think? Did you complete your mission? Has the target been taken care of?"

"It's all a little fuzzy." He mumbled. "What mission?"

"What do you mean what mission? Christ, were you brainwashed or something? Agh, forget it. Just get your ass to the HQ in Germany as soon as you can. Your team had a mission while you were screwing around in America." The person on the other end of the line sighed. "Look, I can't say anything more on this line but…it's bad."

"Okay." Suichi shook his head, trying to clear out the lingering cobwebs. There was a big piece missing from the past twenty-four hours and it was making him somewhat uneasy. "I'm on my way now."

He hung up and put the cell phone back in his pocket. Germany. Now he had to go to Germany. It didn't feel right for some reason, as if he were supposed to be going somewhere else. But they'd said Germany. The HQ in Germany…

There was a ticket booth somewhere. He should get a ticket and find out when the next flight left so he could do what they'd told him to do.

"_You will forget why you came here. You will take the first flight back to wherever you've come from and you will never come here again. Do you understand?_"

For a moment he was staring into a pair of dark eyes, and the world was spinning around him so quickly he felt sick. Then, with a sickening lurch it stopped and he felt the first trickle of horror fill him.

The woman. He'd been sent to kill Bradley Crawford, and he'd almost succeeded but there'd been a woman. She had done something that made him forget what he was doing there and now…He shook his head almost violently, trying to clear away the urge to take a flight back to Japan.

His team was in some kind of trouble. That's why Siamese had called him on his cell phone. He needed to take a flight to the headquarters in Germany because there was something wrong with his team.

Still feeling sick and terribly disoriented Suichi went to the ticket counter to find out when the next flight to Germany was. As he went he silently cursed that woman and whatever she had done to him. If he ever saw her again…his hands clenched into fists and he let out an involuntary snarl of anger.

If he ever saw her again, she was going to die.

* * *

"So, you think that it would help me? If I went to this school?"

Bradley was sitting across from Yumemiru at the kitchen table, staring at her as she struggled to find the right answer to his question.

"I cannot say for certain." She admitted finally. "If I had not gone there, I would not be able to control my abilities the way that I can. That man would have killed you then and there and we wouldn't be having this conversation in the first place."

_But then maybe we'd have met on our own and I wouldn't have to break your heart in a few weeks._

"It would be nice, not to have the visions come on me at random the way that they do." He mused. "I almost got run over once because I had one in the middle of the street and it didn't let me go for almost five minutes. If I could control when I had them, or if I could somehow maintain consciousness of my surroundings…"

Yume could tell he was thinking seriously about it. He was weighing his options, trying to decide if it would be worth his while to spend the next few years as a student learning to control his gifts. There were a thousand and one things that she could have said to encourage him.

She didn't say a single one. She wanted him to make the decision on his own so that later on, maybe he wouldn't hate her nearly as much.

"You say it's in Germany?"

"Yes. Southern Germany to be exact. It's in the middle of the countryside, near a small village."

"The village you were talking about visiting on my vacation." He murmured, gazing at her, expression curious. "The place means that much to you?"

Yume swallowed. She couldn't lie to him, not outright. But if she told him the truth he would never agree to go to the school and then she…she would be trapped in a life she didn't want. In the end she settled for half-truth.

"It changed my life." She said softly. "Made me a different person than I'd expected to be. I will never forget my time there."

A smile slowly spread across his face and Yume felt her heart begin to sink in her chest. Some part of her had been hoping that he would refuse, that he would insist he was all right as he was. The fact that he trusted her so completely made her feel even worse about allowing him to walk into the trap that Rosenkreuz had laid for him. He would grow to despise her within the next year, once the polish wore off and he saw the school for what it really was.

"I only have a few more matches to win." Brad said. "I want to get at least one title before I retire for good. Maybe we can take that vacation time we were talking about and you can show me the school, introduce me to some of the teachers, that kind of thing."

When she smiled it hurt, and she felt like she was about to cry. She took his hand, giving it what she hoped was a reassuring squeeze.

"Of course. I can even show you my old dorm room." She swallowed. "I think you'll understand me a little better, if you spend time there."

It was true. If he spent any time at all in the school he would understand why she'd been so desperate to escape. Maybe he would even begin to see why she'd had to betray him, why she had been so ready to destroy him for the chance of freedom. Who knew, maybe he'd one day even find it in himself to forgive her for what she'd done to him. She was rather doubtful about that but…maybe…

"Well, we can talk more about that a little later on." Bradley said decisively. "Now, weren't we going to get some pizza?"

This time her smile was genuine. If they didn't talk about it, she wouldn't have to think about it. She could just pretend that she was in love with him and that they were going to spend the rest of their lives together. She could pretend that they were an ordinary couple.

Then, just when everything was going well and they were so deeply in love that it seemed they would never surface for air…

She would tear his world apart.

* * *

Suichi arrived in Germany very late at night. Siamese was waiting for him in the airport, looking as though she hadn't slept in several days. Before he could ask her what was going on she hugged him, pressing her face into the side of his neck. He could feel tears on her cheeks and he felt dread settle in his stomach like a leaden weight.

"I'm sorry Suichi." She whispered. "I'm so, so sorry."

He pushed her away.

"What are you talking about?" He demanded roughly.

She brushed the tears from her eyes and he was struck by the sorrow etched into her face. Somehow, something had gone terribly, terribly wrong.

"What's happened?"

"We sent the others on a mission." She said, and her voice sounded hollow. "There was a madman on a killing spree not far from here and we thought that, with all three of them, they could handle it."

Suichi closed his eyes, trying to remember how to breathe.

"We underestimated the target and they had to go in blind because we didn't know where he was hiding out. They tracked him from the airport to a small church in the warehouse district, but they had no surveillance and no escape plan." Siamese drew in a shaky breath. "He picked them off one by one."

"Then they're dead."

"Jin is still alive. Barely. The doctors…they don't think he's going to live much longer. His wounds are very serious and the blade used was filthy enough that there's a great deal of infection. He isn't responding to the antibiotics they've been giving him and…Suichi they don't expect him to last out the night."

She hesitated here and he could tell she was reluctant to bring up his mission, especially since he hadn't filed a report. In the end he saved her the trouble of questioning him and simply said,

"Something went wrong. I'll write up my report later. Right now I want to see Jin."

"Of course." She turned. "There's a car waiting out front to take you to the Kritiker hospital. I'll call ahead so that they know to expect you." She put a hand on his shoulder, peering up at him with concern apparent on her face. "Suichi, I really am sorry. If there is anything that I can do for you…"

"I need to go now." He reminded her.

"Oh, right. I'll see you in a few days, once things have settled down a little."

"Yeah." He spoke roughly, words clipped. "See you."

Then he walked through the front doors, his carry on still slung over his shoulder as he made his way to the car that was waiting for him.

It was a long drive to the Kritiker hospital, which was located as far from the main city as it could get and still remain within an hour's driving distance. By the time the car dropped him off in front of the building he was half-starved and terrified out of his mind that he would be too late to talk to his best friend. He half-walked, half-ran through the lobby toward the elevator, barely even stopping to find out where Jin's room was before he took off once again.

The room smelled of death. That was the first thing that he noticed when he walked through the door. It had that particular odor of blood and shit that told him someone was either dead, or very close to it. He knew that smell from his missions, when he waited around long enough for the true death to settle in. It made him nervous, to find it here.

Jin was lying in the only bed in the room. His lower body was covered with a sheet but even so Suichi could see the bulky shape of bandages across his abdomen. There was also a bandage around his throat, stained a cherry red from blood that had still not stopped seeping from the wound. When the door clicked shut the injured man opened his eyes, a ghost of a smile touching his lips.

"Suichi." He rasped, his voice barely audible. "I didn't think you'd be back this soon."

"There were complications." Suichi replied. "I came back early when they told me what happened." He pulled a chair to the side of the bed and sat down, hesitantly reaching for Jin's hand.

His friend was pale, the dark circles under his eyes and the drawn look to his face making him look very ill.

"Tanake and Kiro are dead." Jin said, tears springing to his eyes. "I didn't even know until I turned and they weren't with me anymore. They wouldn't let me see the bodies but…" He swallowed heavily. "Suichi they were putting pieces of them into plastic bags."

"Did you see who did it?"

"He was smiling." Jin whispered. "He laughed and kept saying that God was going to cry." He looked at Suichi, and there was a shadow in his dark brown eyes. "He looked like a kid, no older than ten years old. HQ says he's twelve and he's crazy but…he just looked like a kid."

"Hey, it's all right." Suichi smiled. "It's over now right?"

"No one's told me what happened." Jin admitted. "I don't think they know where he went."

"That's all right." Suichi assured him. "You don't have to worry about it anymore. If he does anything Kritiker will find him again and take care of it. You did good."

"Not so good or I wouldn't be here." Jin replied. Then he sighed, closing his eyes. "They should let us pick our own missions. None of us would have gone if they'd given us a choice. We would have waited, or let another team take the mission instead. It's not the kind of thing we usually do."

"I know." Suichi hesitated. "Jin…"

"Forget about it. None of this is your fault man. If you'd been there you'd probably be dead or wrapped up just like me. You know, they're just waiting to pull the sheet over my head."

"Don't talk like that…"

"Don't worry about it. I'm not an idiot." Jin smiled weakly. "Do me a favor man?"

"Of course."

"Turn on the television. I want to see how the football (1)team did."

Suichi turned to get the remote from the bedside table. He pushed the button, changing to a sports channel. The final scores were playing across the bottom of the screen and Jin gave a short, bitter laugh.

"Looks like I bet on the wrong team man." He sighed, his speech beginning to slur. "I should…have…known….b…better."

The man shuddered and went still and the monitor, which until then had been ticking off a steady _beep-beep-beep-beep_ suddenly cut out and let loose a long, flat -_beeeeep-_.

With tears in his eyes, Suichi reached out and closed his friend's eyes with the tips of his fingers. Then he put his head down on his arms, suddenly more alone than he had been for many long years.

* * *

Chains. The room was dark and stank of horses. He crouched in the corner, rocking back and forth so that the chains rattled constantly. They'd found him after he killed the men, the ones who smelled of blood and death. Then there had been men with chains and needles and they sent him back to that place where everything was still and he had strange dreams. He didn't like that place. When he went there he could remember things that he didn't want to remember.

_Our Father Who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name…_

He scowled and scraped his fingernails over his arms, trying to draw blood. Images danced in front of his eyes, taunting him. He could see them again, his mother and father and sister, smiling and happy in the hours before their death.

"No." He snarled. "I don't want to see."

There was a heartbeat just outside of his cell, someone guarding the door so that he could not escape.

"Go away!" He screamed. "Sinner! Go back to Hell!"

_Our Father Who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name; Thy kingdom come; they will be done on earth as it is in heaven…_

"I didn't!" He cried out. "I didn't do it. It was Him. He hates me. It was HIM!" He tore at his hair, at his face. One fingernail scraped across his eyeball and he paused, suddenly very still. "I don't want to see." He mused, thoughtful.

Curious, he began to dig at his eye. It had possibilities. If he had something sharp then maybe…

He pulled a knife from his boot. They hadn't found it when they searched him, or afterward when they sedated him. With a strange smile on his face he poised it just above his eyebrow, digging the tip in enough to draw blood. Then, in one smooth motion he drew it down, slicing through eyelid and eyeball alike until the blade hit the bone of his cheek.

"I will not see." He said decisively.

He did not take the other eye, not yet. First he would wait, to make sure that the blind eye could not see the memories any longer. Then, if it worked, he would take the sight from the other eye. Until then…

The knife went back into his boot and he sat back to wait, sticking his tongue out to catch the blood that was pouring down the side of his face.

_Our Father who are in heaven, hallowed be thy name. They kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread; and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us; and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen._

* * *

(1) meaning soccer for all American-types

Next Chapter: The Peace Before the Rage of God

Look for Updates starting on the 5th of October


	6. The Peace Before the Rage of God

AN: Peek-a-boo

Disclaimer: Weiß Kreuz belongs not to me. Rated R for everything. AU and not.

I believe…there are monkeys in your pants.

The Peace Before The Rage of God

The little boy sat on the table in the emergency room, staring vacantly at the wall as the doctors muttered about him in the next room. The wound on his ankle had been cleaned and wrapped and a bottle of antibiotic pills sat beside him. They wouldn't have to take his leg, they said, so long as he took the pills and stayed off his leg. Of course, that would be impossible. If he couldn't walk then he couldn't eat, but he didn't say anything to them about that.

"…a shelter might…"

"…all full, talked to the social worker…"

He wrapped his arms around himself at the words that drifted to him through the doorway. In the few years that he'd been on the street he'd had his fill of shelters and social workers. Shelters meant he would get a beating from someone older and stronger who wanted a bed for the night. Social workers were completely ineffectual, pitying him for his situation but unable to do anything for him. If this was the best that they could do he might as well leave now.

"…foster home…"

"…know a good woman who can…"

"…just for a few days…"

"…let his leg heal up before we find a new place for him…"

He stopped trying to get up, his attention sharpening as he strained to listen to the conversation. If he could let his leg heal it wouldn't matter what they tried to do afterwards; he could easily escape and go back to his safe little corner of the alleyway behind the restaurant on Eighth.

The doctor who had treated his ankle came back into the room then, smiling in a friendly way that made him nervous.

"Do you have any family we can contact to pick you up?" The man inquired gently.

"Iie." The boy lowered his gaze. It wasn't really a lie. His parents wouldn't come and get him, that much he knew.

"I was talking to some of the other doctors." The man said, kneeling in front of the boy. "We know a nice woman you could stay with for a few days, at least until your ankle feels better. Then well…we'll see after that. What do you say?"

The boy shrugged. It was best not to become too excited about anything; he knew it would only lead to his own disappointment later on.

"All right then it's settled. I'll call Tanaka-san and have her come to pick you up as soon as she can." The doctor stood, moving toward the door. "By the way, what's your name little guy?"

For a moment the boy was silent, staring resolutely at his bandaged foot. Then, so slowly it almost seemed not to be happening at all, he lifted his head to glance up at the doctor. It was a quick look, up and then down once again but it happened, and the doctor felt strangely as if he'd just witnessed something miraculous.

"Nagi." The boy said softly.

"All right then Nagi, you just wait here for a few minutes. I'll be right back with a nurse who will take you down to the cafeteria for some dinner. How does that sound?"

Nagi didn't say anything as the doctor left but his heart was pounding in his chest and his palms were sweaty. He was afraid, as he always was. Afraid of the doctor, afraid of the noises and the smells of the hospital, afraid of the nurse who was going to come in, afraid of what was going to happen when Tanaka-san came to get him. But for the first time Nagi didn't run away. He sat and waited as he'd been told and wondered if, for the first time in his life, he would find a warm bed and a kind person who would take care of him as his parents had not.

He didn't really believe it of course but…well, he wondered just the same.

* * *

He wouldn't speak. They had been trying to get him to talk for weeks now but the only words he said were spoken in the midst of his dreams and he only ever said one word, over and over again. After a while they'd taken to calling him by that word, the only word that he ever said. He had become Schuldig to them, Guilty, and as the days went by he sat in his room in the psychiatric ward and thought about what he had done to his mother.

Most of his memories from that night when he lost her were very vague and dim, mixed with the odd dreams that he had in the night. He could clearly remember being in the hallway, scrabbling at the door as he tried to get inside. There had been something wrong, something that he couldn't see and his stepfather wouldn't let him inside. Then someone had been screaming at him, telling him it was his fault and…

That was when the memory twisted with the dream. Sometimes his mother was standing there smiling and there was nothing wrong. It was all just some big mistake and they were going to laugh about it once everyone stopped screaming. Other times she was dead, blood trickling from her nose and ears and even her eyes. Voices blurred together until they whispered the same thing to him, guilty, you're guilty, you did it.

He'd stopped speaking because he didn't know what words were lies and what words were truths.

"Hey Erik, you talking today?"

It was one of the orderlies, a man called Jan. He was the only one who did not torment the strange, silent boy in room one-thirty-two. He was also the only one who still called the teenager by his true name.

"Well, you take your time with it my friend. No reason to say a damn word 'til you're good and ready."

Jan was wheeling a cart into the room. Lunch, Erik guessed by the look of it. Not that he could remember what time it was or how long it had been since he'd eaten. Those weren't the kinds of things he thought about in here.

"They say your mom's doing all right." Jan said conversationally. "I don't reckon you did anything to her like the guy's claim. The doctors say she had a severe stroke but she's beginning to recover. Maybe they'll let you go see her."

Erik shook his head.

_No._ He thought firmly. _No. I am guilty. I did it. They said I did it and I can't remember, so I must've done it._

Now don't get all riled up boy. Your mother worked hard and she was under a great deal of stress. Your step dad probably didn't help much either, from what I know of him. I figure her body just couldn't take it anymore that's all. It was nothing you did, on purpose or by accident.

_But I'm guilty._ Erik reminded himself. _Guilty_.

Jan shook his head a little sadly, setting Erik's tray in front of him.

"Yeah well, it'd be a shame to let this food go to waste. Your mother would be appalled if she saw how skinny you're getting because you won't eat enough."

For a moment Erik hesitated. After a few moments however he drew away from the window and turned his attention to the food before him.

"That's better. You eat and get your strength up and we'll see what you say when you're feeling a little healthier. All right?" Jan began to move toward the door. "Eat all of that meat now you hear? All of it. Drink the milk too, you need the calcium."

Erik smiled a little wryly and wondered if Jan had any children that he liked to boss around. Then he lifted the fork and, slowly, he began to pick through his food. He missed the approving look that Jan gave him, too busy enjoying the taste of roast beef sliding between his teeth and over his tongue. It tasted good.

Jan locked the door behind him, pushing his cart further down the hall. His next stop always gave him more trouble than he was worth. With a weary sigh he unlocked the door and stepped into the room. He found the patient curled up under his bed, hands over his ears, muttering incoherently to himself.

"Good afternoon Martel. Mad as a hatter as usual I see."

"Little son of a bitch. That stupid little son of a bitch. Should've killed him when I had the chance. Little shit. Knew he was trouble. Tried to beat it out of him but it didn't work. Should've killed him long time ago, before he got big, before he could use it…"

"Yeah, yeah Martel I know. Too bad for you he's doing just fine. His mom's getting better too. I'd imagine as soon as she's well she'll take him out of here and leave your crazy ass here alone." Jan slapped the food down on the table. "Now I'm supposed to watch you eat this to make sure you don't try to kill yourself so get off the floor and eat your lunch."

"Stupid little shit." The man muttered, climbing to his feet. "Should've killed him…saved his mother from him and his witchery…" He ate mechanically and when he was done he went back under his bed, quiet now as he curled up and put his hands over his ears. Then he began to talk again, and Jan rolled his eyes as he left the room.

His last stop was upstairs, in a recovery wing of the hospital. He left his food cart downstairs, took the elevator, and found the room three doors down from the main office.

"Good afternoon Frau Andler." He said politely, seating himself in a chair next to the bed. The woman lying there had her eyes wide open, but she didn't blink or move at the sound of his voice. "I have been down to see your son, Erik. I told him he should eat, to get his strength up for when you recover. Your husband though…I am afraid he is quite crazy."

She remained still, but he thought he saw a flicker of understanding in the depths of her eyes.

"Your son is very talented. He is also arrogant, he things that your stroke is his fault." He took the woman's hand. "I will try to convince him otherwise, don't worry about that. People will not call him _Schuldig_ for much longer."

He squeezed her hand and glanced at the clock.

"I must go now. I will come again tomorrow."

With that he left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. He went back down the hall, took the elevator downstairs, picked his cart back up, and resumed his walk through the placid green halls of the psych ward.

* * *

Gunner Valhendt was kneeling in a mess of boxes, trying to ignore the lump in his throat as he thumbed through one of Jess Moraven's notebooks. Every vision she'd ever had, large and small, was recorded within the pages of one of her hard-backed books. There were hundreds of them, all boxed up and labeled in chronological order. He'd been reading them for hours now, staring at the spidery handwriting and wondering how Jess had managed to be so normal.

_Management skills babe. That's the only way to do it._

He shook his head. Jess had been dead for almost a month now but the knowledge of the time that had passed didn't make it any easier to bear. To him it was just as fresh as if it had been yesterday.

_August 31, 1995 3:04 p.m._

_I saw Valhendt's mistake. The one that's going to cost him his life one day. The mistake's name is Bradley Crawford, a precog with a mind like a steel trap. Valhendt will take him in, train him and one day…Crawford will betray him. Of course, I know that the old coot won't listen to a damned word I say. He never does. Serves him right that he's going to end up in a ditch somewhere with half his parts missing._

The businessman smiled, imagining the expression on Jess's face as she wrote the entry. He dug through the most recent book then and found the entry that he was looking for, the one that he had somehow known would be there.

_November 6, 2004 5:36 a.m._

_Blood. Mine, I think. The view from the picture window is of high summer when the birds are all crowded around the feeder. Cooling tea and a plate of cakes, untouched save the splashes of crimson. Then there is darkness and such a sweet feeling of peace that I cannot be afraid of it. _

_People assume that we precogs cannot see our own future, because if we could then we would meet with no harm until nature ran its course. They do not understand. Once we have seen it we are ready for it, we wait for it because there is nothing better than the gentle darkness that waits for us all._

_That was it. She had known that she was going to die. They all knew when they were going to die._

Valhendt sighed, putting the notebook back in the box. He would send all of the books to headquarters for analysis. All of the pertinent entries would be put into collective data files for future reference and the rest…

He fished his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed a number.

"Hey, Karlo? I'm going to be sending you the Moraven files and I was wondering if you could do me a favor." He paused. "Yeah, I was hoping that after you entered all of the info that we need you could send me what's left rather than torching it." Another pause. "Thanks Karlo, I owe you one."

He put the phone away and finished boxing things up, closing the lids with masking tape when they were full. He'd already sent the last of her art work to the gallery. They were putting it together for a final showing, a kind of memorial service. Although he didn't plan on attending he had the date marked on his calendar, just in case.

His secretary had seen the circled date and smiled knowingly but said nothing, her expression saying it all. She knew, probably better than anyone, that Gunner was soft at heart. Especially when it came to Jesselyn Moraven.

"I will miss you." He said softly as he closed up the last box. Then he smiled. "Even if you did drive me up the wall more often than not."

_Just doing my job babe._

He shook his head and wondered if it would be like that forever, if he would always hear her voice whispering to him. It would become rather annoying after a while if it didn't stop but, at the same time, Valhendt rather hoped it wouldn't stop. Then he would always have her there, nagging him and telling him all the things that he didn't want to hear. She could be the voice in his head, and no one would ever have to know that she had become his conscience.

"See you Moraven." He said softly. Then he called over his shoulder to the moving crew. "All right, get this stuff out of here. I'm putting the house on the market this afternoon and I want to be able to show it by tomorrow morning."

"You got it boss."

And that, he thought to himself as he walked to his car, was that.

* * *

"We won!" Brad scooped Yume up in his arms, twirling her around with a shout of pure glee. "We won Yume, we won!"

Yumemiru gave a shriek, wrapping her arms around his neck and laughing as they spun in a continuous circle. When he let her down he hugged her, kissing her cheek and her mouth as he laughed.

Mac stood off to one side, concern apparent on his face. His fighter had a split lip, a bad lump forming on his cheek and possible broken ribs and he was lifting his girlfriend full up into the air as if she weighed nothing.

"Brad, take it easy. You need to go the hospital and get some of those wounds checked out before you start celebrating."

"Forget it Mac, I feel fine." Brad replied, still grinning down at Yume. "We're going out for some chow and then we're going home where I am going to make love to my girlfriend." He slid an arm around Yume's waist. "Maybe I'll see you in a few months Mac, but for now I'm done."

"Brad…" Mac sighed. "Just get your ribs checked out okay? If they're broken…"

"Yeah yeah." The boxer waved a dismissive hand.

"I'll make sure he goes to the hospital Mac." Yume assured the trainer. "No worries okay?"

He nodded.

"Take care of him Yume."

"I will."

Walter stepped in then, reaching for Brad's hand in an attempt to draw him away from Yumemiru and the rest of the crowd.

"Listen Brad I've got a whole new contract to talk to you about and I thought we should get a head start on it just in case…" The taller man shouldered him off, casting him back into the crowd with a careless hand.

"Not tonight Walter. No business deals, endorsements or tours for me tonight." he smiled down at Yume. "Tonight is just for celebrating."

They dodged the screaming crowd and disappeared into the locker room, giggling like children.

"Let's eat dinner at Mary Jo's." Brad suggested. "They've got a great peach cobbler and their fries are absolutely to die for." He stopped in the main area of the locker room. "I've got to take a shower. I'll only be a minute."

"Take your time." She replied. "Mary Jo's is open all night."

"Ah, but everyone knows that peach cobbler is better before midnight." He winked and disappeared into the shower, leaving her to sit on one of the long, narrow benches.

Over the past few weeks Bradley had been fighting and winning every match that Walter had scheduled. His excitement at being with Yume, his eagerness to learn to control his gift, and his joy at having survived a brush with death had set him on fire. He was, as the tabloids were saying, unbeatable. As he'd told Yume when she'd pointed out how well his career was going, it was always best to end on a high note.

It had been one among many efforts on Yumemiru's part to discourage Brad from attending Valhendt's school. More and more she wanted him to change his mind, to refuse to go, to find some reason not to become one of the gifted puppets that the school created. Unfortunately she had done her job too well. There was no discouraging Bradley Crawford once he'd gotten his mind set on something.

_They're going to destroy him_… She thought, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. They would too. They would kill his smile, they would cloud the clearness of his eyes and the purity of his heart until he was just as twisted as everyone who walked through Rosenkreuz's halls. She closed her eyes, put her head in her hands, and waited for him to get out of the shower.

It was two in the morning. Yume was standing in nothing but a thin silk robe, staring in silence out the window of Brad's bedroom. Brad was fast asleep in bed, the covers pulled up around his waist. He was snoring softly and it was a strangely comforting sound, something that she had become accustomed to hearing every night when she fell asleep.

Somewhere in the depths of the jeans she'd left lying on the floor she heard the faint humming of her beeper. Giving an inaudible curse she hurried across the room and took the beeper into the bathroom, bending it into the light to examine the number flashing across the panel.

Valhendt.

She took a deep breath and went back into the bedroom for her phone. She dialed the number in silence as she walked out into the kitchen, taking a seat on one of the cabinets. It ran twice before Valhendt picked it up.

"Yume." He sounded slightly annoyed and she had a sinking feeling deep in her gut. This wasn't going to be a good conversation. "I've been expecting you to show up for a few weeks now. What's going on?"

"Look, he had a couple of matches all right? I had to wait until those were over before I could do anything."

"And?"

"We're leaving for Germany in two days."

"Ah. I knew you wouldn't let me down." He sounded terribly pleased with himself now.

_Gods how I hate you_. Yume thought viciously, knuckles white where she gripped the phone.

"I'll be expecting you to come up to the school on Saturday then." There was a brief pause. "If you don't show up I'm going to assume that you have gone back on our deal so I won't be forwarding that check to the school. Not to mention I'll have to send someone out to collect you…"

"I understand." She said through clenched teeth.

"Then show up on time. And no funny business either, or I'll make sure a certain organization has reason to hunt you down like a dog."

Yume shivered at the thought accompanying those words. He would hand her over to Kritiker. Or, worse, he would toss her between Kritiker and Rosenkreuz and sit back to see who caught her first.

"Believe me." She whispered. "You have nothing to worry about. Just make sure you're ready for us."

"I will be." He purred.

She hung up and set the phone on the counter beside her, glaring at it as though her gaze alone could set it on fire. As the day neared she found that it was more and more difficult for her to accept that Bradley would belong to Rosenkreuz. Some part of her could not acknowledge that he would work for them, that he would become one of their dogs and lose all the sparkle and innocence that he possessed. It hurt her to think about it.

_I can't just give him to them._

But what could she do? If she told him now he might not believe her, or he might be angry enough that he wouldn't care. Even if he accepted what she said he wouldn't understand just how dangerous Rosenkreuz was and he'd be caught within days. There had to be a way to get them both out of this mess…

The thought came suddenly, and with it came a whirl of chaos. If she could pull it off, if she could force their hand…She swallowed.

_I'll make sure a certain organization has a reason to hunt you down like a dog_.

She went back into the bedroom, her heart pounding in her chest. Suddenly she felt very cold, very vulnerable. Without a sound she climbed back into bed beside her boyfriend, clinging to him so tightly her arms shook.

He murmured something unintelligible and rolled over, pulling her closer and offering soothing words, running a hand up and down her back.

"Ai shiteru." She whispered, pressing her face against the bend of his neck. "Ai shiteru Bradley."

He sighed, cuddling her.

"I love you too Yume."

He slept on, unaware of the hot tears that were moistening his neck and the fact that Yume's heart was breaking silently as she cried in his arms.

* * *

Quiet. It was so blessedly quiet. All the sounds had stopped, the visions had gone and he was lying still in the darkness. Even the heartbeat of the guard had retreated somewhere into the distance, beyond the edge of his hearing. It was like a tomb and he felt at peace, at home among the dead. He closed his good eye and sighed wearily, wondering if he could finally sleep without dreaming.

Then he heard the footsteps, the heartbeat moving slowly, inexorably toward his quiet place.

Someone was coming.

"Go away." He growled, directing the fierce light of one golden eye on the door of the cell. "GO AWAY!"

The footsteps grew louder, the heartbeat ever closer. Snarling angrily he rolled to his feet and threw himself at the door, tugging on the bars until they groaned under his hands. He rocked back and forth, heel to toe to heel to toe, anger smoldering in his golden gaze.

"You must not come here. Go back. Go back!"

He beat on the wall until his fists were bloody and still the heartbeat and the footsteps grew louder, came closer, drowned out the silence until he was being deafened.

_I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth; and in Jesus Christ, His only Son, Our Lord; who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified died and was buried…_

He could hear them coming closer, could smell the blood and the hot stench of gunpowder.

_…He descended into hell; the third day He arose again from the dead; He ascended into heaven, sitteth at the right hand of God, the Father almight, from thence He shall come to judge the living and the dead…_

_He sobbed, rocking back and forth as the sounds grew louder, and louder, until they were almost painful. Then the heartbeat was there, standing outside the door with all that blood and the smell and the heartbeat pounding in his ears until he wanted to scream._

_I believe in the Holy Spirit, the Holy Catholic Church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and life everlasting. Amen._

He screamed. He would show the man, this man who stank of bullets and blood and whose heart pounded like a hammer in his ears. With a low snarl he reached up to the ruin of his left eye. His eyelids separated from each other with a tearing sound, dried blood scattering like powder onto the ground. The tips of his fingers lid into warmth, met with something solid and curved around it. When he pulled and it came free he gave a triumphant howl before throwing it through the bars of his cell.

Valhendt was standing in front of the madman's prison, listening to the frantic, terrified sounds coming from within. Then something small and round and wet came sailing through the bars of the cage and he caught it reflexively, staring down without comprehending what he held in his hands. When he understood he dropped it hurriedly, staring at it with a sickened expression on his face.

It was an eyeball. The iris was badly scarred, the surface split and cracked and filled with blood.

_Oh my god._

The laughter began inside the cell. It was low at first, a rough, husky chuckle that made him back away from the door. As it went on it rose in volume and in pitch until it was a bale of shrieking, hysterical laughter that lifted the hairs on the back of his neck and made him shiver uncontrollably. It was terrifying, blood-chilling, the most frightening thing he had ever heard in his life.

It was the laughter of a madman.

* * *

Next Chapter: Paving the Way With Good Intentions

Look for Updates starting on October 19th


	7. Paving the Way With Good Intentions

AN: Hwua!

Disclaimer: WeißNot Mine. Rated R for Everything. AU and not.

The Magnanimous Underwear God Leolapoliolis of Newport says hi.

Paving the Way With Good Intentions

Nagi sat very stiffly at the kitchen table, his body hunched protectively over his plate as he devoured everything that had been set before him. His eyes periodically flicked toward the middle-aged woman sitting across from him, assessing her and the degree of danger she might pose toward his meal. Tanaka-san regarded him with mingled pity and shock, trying to eat her own food without staring too obviously in his direction. It proved extremely difficult however, especially considering the fact that he kept glaring at her…

"I'm afraid Nakiwa didn't tell me how old you are." She said softly.

"Seven or eight I guess." Nagi replied in between mouthfuls. "I don't really know."

"Oh." The woman bit her lip, obviously struggling for something to say to that. "Have you ever gone to school?"

"No." He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and grasped for his cup, taking a hasty drink.

Tanaka-san swallowed, feeling completely out of her depth. She'd had three children in her lifetime but this boy was a complete mystery to her. He didn't act like an ordinary child. Well, she amended as he slurped loudly at his noodles, except for his table manners. Nakiwa hadn't really told her much about him, aside from the fact that he needed a place to stay and that he had no family.

Nagi finished his meal in record time, scraping the plate clean before he would allow his caretaker to remove it from the table. Even then he watched her with a kind of animal wariness, waiting for her to make what he might construe as a threatening move. When she merely took the plate to the sink and returned with dessert he felt something inside of him beginning to ease a little.

For now, it looked like he was safe.

Dessert was some kind of chocolate confection with whipped cream and a light pastry crust. Whatever it was called, it was far too rich a fare for Nagi's stomach and he passed it up after having only had a small taste.

Watching him with concern, Tanaka-san removed the dessert plate and put in the fridge. She'd keep a small portion for herself and give the rest of it to Nakiwa when he came by to see how the boy was doing. The man could use a little extra meat on his bones, he was far too skinny.

"Well, I'm sure you'd like to get some rest. You've had a rather long day and you're probably like to see your room."

Nagi followed her without a word, silently thinking that he'd had much longer days when he was living on the street. He was forced to rely heavily on his crutch for support, cursing his wounded leg as he struggled up the stairs to the second floor.

"Until your leg heals you'll be spending most of your time up here." Tanaka-san explained gently. "I'm afraid there's no television up here, but there's a small library next to your room. You can help yourself to the books there, it'll help you pass the time." She smiled, opening the door to his bedroom. "Let me know if you need anything."

Nagi watched her go, completely at a loss. He'd never had any time to himself before. He was always hunting for food, looking for a new place to sleep or trying to find himself some new clothes. If he wasn't busy just surviving he was evading the social workers and other such people who were trying to take him to a shelter, to a home, anywhere.

He had no idea what to do with extra time.

After a good hour of simply sitting and staring at the bare white walls of his room, Nagi decided to check out the library.

The room that encased the small library was only slightly larger than Nagi's bedroom. It was lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and there were waist-high shelves placed in the interior of the room. Every shelf was filled to bursting with books, with every kind of book imaginable. There were trade manuals, accounting ledgers and technical instruction booklets. He saw novels of every shape and kind, romance, adventure, science fiction…every genre he could name was represented before him.

By an act of Fate, Nagi knew about books. His father had been a high school teacher and had sported his own modest library in the back of their house. He could still remember being read to as a small child, back before…everything. He could remember quite clearly his wonder at the stories his parents read to him, his eagerness every night for the next tale to begin.

It was a very vivid memory, standing out in stark relief in his mind despite the strangeness of his life since that time.

Now he stood in silent awe, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly open as he gazed around him. When he managed to recover himself at last he went for the nearest shelf, selected a book at random, and began to read.

The next morning Tanaka-san had a few moments of utter panic when she discovered that the boy was not in his bed. More than that, the sheets were as smooth and unrumpled as they had been when she'd changed the sheets the morning before. There was no sign of the boy anywhere in his room and her heart was pounding in her chest as she darted back into the hallway.

Before her panic could grow into true hysteria, Tanaka-san noticed that the door leading into the library was cracked open. She approached the room quickly, sending up a silent prayer that she would find Nagi somewhere inside.

For a moment she saw only books and her heart began to pound in her chest…and then she caught sight of one bare foot sticking out from behind one of the waist-high shelves. Smiling with relief she moved around to get a clear view of her ward, and her expression eased into affection at the sight of him.

He was fast asleep, curled up against the shelf with a book grasped tightly in one hand. There was a flashlight on the floor beside him, its bulb long-since burned out while he'd been sleeping.

She carried him to his bedroom and laid him down, pulling the sheet up over his narrow shoulders. The book she set on the nightstand, carefully marking the page he'd been holding.

This marked the beginning of a ritual that would continue for all the time that Nagi lived in her house.

* * *

"If he is as mad as you say he is, then he will be of no use to us or to the school."

Valhendt frowned, somewhat thankful that his superiors couldn't see the expression on his face over the phone. He was willing to agree that the boy, Jei, was not going to be easy to control by any means. However, it was also rather obvious that the boy would be extremely useful if they _could_ control him. It would take some hard work and a great deal of adjustment, but he was convinced that it was doable.

Besides, Valhendt never backed down from a challenge.

"I understand your position Sir," He said politely. "but I believe if we can get him under control he could be more valuable than any other agent we've ever had."

There was a pause on the other end of the line.

"Just how, pray tell, do you propose we control him? The last time I checked, you were the one calling us babbling about how he just ripped his own eye out and threw it at you."

Valhendt coughed.

"That was an overreaction on my part. Actually, the implications of that are really quite phenomenal. If he can tear his own eye out with his bare hands he obviously has some kind of resistance to pain, and he has already shown a great inclination toward killing. If we could direct that fury, that thirst for blood, he would be unstoppable."

There was a sigh.

"I suppose that mind of yours is already planning out how you're going to take care of this?"

"Actually, I was thinking that once we have Crawford trained we could turn the madman over to his care."

Silence. Then,

"I think you've lost what good sense was left to you. We _never_ pair agents with their level of power together. It's too dangerous. If they were to rebel there would be little we could do to stand in their way."

"I know." Valhendt was actually smiling now, seemingly pleased with his plan. "If we can discipline Crawford to the point that he does not question our commands, and we ensure that the others trust him implicitly, we'll never have to concern ourselves with such a possibility."

"You're mad." Another sigh. "But you haven't let us down yet. I'm going to leave this matter in your hands for now, but at the first sign of trouble we're going to exterminate the madman. Do you understand Gunner?"

"Yes, of course." Valhendt replied smoothly.

"Good. Now, if that is all…"

"Ah, yes. Good evening si-."

The line went dead. Scowling, Valhendt put the receiver back in its cradle and turned his glare toward the city skyline visible out his window. For a few moments he simply stared out, his expression thoughtful as the wheels in his head did their work. Suddenly he smiled, reaching for the button that would page his secretary.

"Yes Mr. Valhendt?"

"Florence, patch me through to the Japanese offices. I need to speak to the agent in charge of the recruitment division."

"Certainly sir."

There was a moment's silence, a click, and then a voice speaking on the other end of the line.

"Moshi moshi."

"Nori. It's Valhendt. Would you be so kind as to get your boss for me?"

"Of course."

Another brief silence, and then…

"Valhendt you old rascal, what are you…"

"Do you still have a tag on that powerful telekinetic you were telling me about the last time that we spoke?"

"Hmm? Oh yes. Still a bit too young for a school I'm afraid, but we're keeping tabs on him."

"Fantastic. I want you to keep track of him for the next few years, but leave him alone." Valhendt leaned back in his chair, glancing over the files resting on his desk. _Crawford Bradley, Andler Erik, Donovan Jei, Naoe Nagi._ "I want updates twice a month."

"You got it man."

"Good. I'll talk to you later then." Valhendt leaned forward, taking a new file from his desk and labeling it clearly on the tab:

_Schwarz_.

"Let's see what you'll make of this one, Esset." He murmured, and his smile was that of the cat who has just eaten the canary beak, feet, and all.

* * *

Suichi Takatori was sitting in the dark in his new office at the Kritiker HQ, staring dully at the surface of his desk. After the deaths of his teammates in Germany Persia had decided that the organization's star agent needed a break from fieldwork. He could have told them that it was too late, that he was ruined for murder now that his friends had been slaughtered, but they didn't seem inclined to listen. He was the best that they had; they didn't want to know that they'd lost him.

His hands clenched into fists and he let out a low growl, his eyes seeing beyond the polished wood and to the file that Persia wouldn't let him have. It was the information that Kritiker had managed to compile on the madman who'd killed Jin, Kiro and Tanake. He'd requested it before ever leaving Germany but his request was promptly and sternly turned down. No one wanted him going off on a suicide mission, not when they thought they could still squeeze a few more years, a few more deaths out of him.

_If I ever have the power_ he thought angrily _I'm not going to force my agents to do anything. They won't feel trapped, as I do._

There was a knock at the door and he turned his scowl toward it even as his secretary came in.

"Keiko…"

"Sorry sir." The red-haired woman smiled apologetically. "Yuriko is asking for those reports you were supposed to prepare."

Suichi sighed, gesturing to the stack of neatly ordered papers on the corner of his desk. He'd finished the reports hours ago. Siamese and the other liaisons were always complaining about how much paperwork they had to do but this was laughable. It barely took any time at all, and it was such mindless work that you didn't even need to pay attention to what you were doing.

"Sir, some of the others are talking about going out for a few drinks after work." Keiko said hesitantly. "I was wondering if maybe you'd…"

"No thank you Keiko." Suichi said brusquely. "I have some other things to take care of tonight."

"Oh, all right then." She looked rather disappointed but she collected the files she'd come for and made her way to the door. She hesitated just inside the room, glancing back at her boss with a tiny frown. "Sulking won't bring them back you know." She said softly. "I don't think they'd want you to sit here and brood over their deaths like this."

Suichi's brows drew together, his eyes narrowing.

"You may go now Keiko." He growled, his tone a warning.

She sighed, tucking a strand of curly red hair behind her ear.

"Yes sir."

When she was gone the former assassin cursed and turned his fierce gaze to the window. What did she know anyway? She'd never met the members of Weiß. She had no idea what they would want for him or for his life now that they were dead. For all she knew they were happy that Suichi was trying to seek vengeance for them…

Unexpectedly a vision of his companions flashed in front of him and he felt a shiver of guilt. They _would_ have thought he was being an idiot.

_A self-indulgent wiener_ He thought, and the words came in Jin's voice. _And a sulky one too_.

He sighed and got up, moving toward the door. When he opened it and leaned his head out Keiko swiveled around in her chair to look at him expectantly, obviously waiting for a task to do.

"Hey, ah Keiko?" He swallowed. "Maybe I'll take you up on that drink."

* * *

Yumemiru was staring out the window at a wall of clouds, her dark eyes pained as she tried to wrap her mind around their situation. Bradley was seated beside her, humming softly along with the music coming out of his headphones. It was obvious that he wasn't expecting the ambush that was awaiting him in just a few short days and the knowledge that he trusted her so deeply was just another dagger twisted in her heart. She couldn't bear to think how he would react, much less how she was going to do this in the first place. The resolve she had discovered in the apartment just the other night seemed to be abandoning her now.

"How much longer?" He asked suddenly.

Her head whipped back to him and she knew she had a guilty expression on her face. He took no notice, waiting expectantly for her answer.

"It ah…it shouldn't be too long." She replied. "We're already nearing the airport."

"Cool." He settled back into his seat, turning his attention back to his headphones.

Yume sighed inwardly, sinking back down and trying to force her tense body to relax. She knew what she was going to have to do. The question was, was she going to be able to do it?

No doubt Valhendt would have the place cleaned up when they arrived. Everything would be neat, orderly, and he would have all the troublemakers spirited away off the campus to ensure they couldn't voice any unwanted opinions. Bradley would see only what Valhendt wanted him to see, and his only clues as to the reality behind the illusion would have to come from his gift.

_Which will be blocked by a half-dozen of the strongest telepaths that the school has produced since it opened. He's strong, but no one is strong enough to work through that kind of interference._

When the school showed its true colors Bradley would be just as surprised as she had been when she found out what was behind the glossy veneer of the Rosenkreuz Academy. She was willing to bet it was going to be a very nasty shock.

The pilot took that moment to interrupt her thoughts with an announcement that they were fifteen minutes away from the airport and would be beginning their descent shortly.

"We can spend the afternoon relaxing." She said as Bradley took his headphones off. "There's a very nice inn in the village, if my memory is correct."

Actually, the inn was new. Valhendt had told her about it over their last phone call, just before she boarded the plane in L.A. He already had a room booked for the two of them and he'd promised her five full days to make her plans before she had to take her boyfriend to the school. After that…well, that part was entirely up to her.

"It sounds great." Brad assured her, smiling. Then his expression brightened even more. "Hey, maybe we could even go up and visit some of your old teachers at the school!"

Yume swallowed, trying not to allow her thoughts to betray her. The thought of introducing Bradley to Werren, Kyou, Terrence or Lilliane made her feel ill. They'd taught her only one thing in her time at the school, and that was obedience. If Rosenkreuz told you to do something, you did it to the best of your ability and you _did not protest_.

Everything she knew about her gift she'd learned on her own under the threat of death if she failed to control herself.

"How far away is the school?" Brad's voice jolted her from her thoughts and she forced a hurried smile as he took her hand.

"It's about five miles northeast of the village. The school covers a rather extensive territory, mostly to ensure privacy for the students and to prevent accidents." At the young man's concerned look she added hastily, "Accidents caused by uncontrolled gifts. There aren't that many, and with the number of natural healers available on hand no one is ever seriously hurt."

He nodded his understanding, thoughts focusing on the future that lay ahead of him. Learning to control his gift, how to defend himself from those who sought to harm him because of his abilities…spending all of his days with Yumemiru…

He was so wrapped up in his own considerations that he didn't notice the tell-tale signs of a vision until his eyesight blurred and the world slipped away from him entirely.

_He was standing in a massive hall, and it was dark save the faint illumination coming from torches set in niches in the walls. Yumemiru was standing a few feet away from him, tears running down her cheeks._

_"I'm sorry." She whispered the words, her voice hoarse._

_"It's funny, how little those words can mean." This from a man who appeared, forming from the shadows to stride across the open space. He came to a stop beside Yume, who was crying quietly, her shoulders shaking with unheard sobs. "Especially when the person who says them isn't really all that apologetic to begin with."_

_"What are you talking about?" This was his own voice, though he hadn't tried to say anything._

_"Shall I tell him Yume? Shall I tell him everything?"_

"Tell me what?"

"Bradley?"

He blinked and the vision faded completely, leaving him staring down into the worried eyes of his girlfriend. For an instant the image of her from the vision overlapped his true sight and he had to shake his head to separate the two.

_What's going on?_

"We've landed." Yume explained. "Everyone's preparing to get off. If we're going to get to the inn before it gets dark we need to hurry." She was already standing up, moving to get their luggage from the overhead compartment.

Shaking his head one last time to clear it completely, Bradley stood up as well. Whatever was going to happen over the next few days, well, he was just going to have to see. Though, he admitted to himself, he had the feeling he wasn't going to be pleased with what he discovered.

* * *

Jan walked into 401B at the same time that he always did, wheeling his cart of food before him with his usual good humor. Erik was sitting on his bed this time, his head tilted to one side as if he were listening to something beyond hearing. He didn't seem to realize the aide was in his room until Jan bumped his cart and sent the glasses to clinking. Then the patient's head snapped up, nostrils flaring, eyes darkening as he rose into a half-crouch.

"Whoa, relax there man. It's just me. Same time as always." He hefted a tray and moved smoothly toward the bed. "On today's menu…" He set it in front of the young man. "we have gray glue and lumps of toe jam."

Erik's nose wrinkled at the sight of his meal. Whatever it was supposed to be…he shuddered. He didn't even want to know what was in it.

_Yigh. Do I actually have to eat this scum?_

"Well that's entirely up to you." Jan admitted. "The strudel isn't bad, and the rolls are all right if you like them a little overdone." Then he leaned in. "I bet if you hold your nose then that," he gestured to the main course. "won't be nearly as bad."

Feeling his stomach already turning into a hard knot of rebellion, Erik gave a long-suffering sigh and reluctantly began to eat. He hoped Jan knew what a sacrifice it was to actually devour this…glop.

"You know Erik, I was thinking."

_Yoi, don't strain yourself._

"Hey!" Jan swatted him across the shoulder. "Cut it out. Anyway, there's a school not that far from here. It's a big place, in one of the old castles. I've never been; I was too old by the time it was founded but…" He leaned in a little further. "I've heard that they take in people who can, you know, do things."

Erik regarded him with wide, uncertain eyes, his disgusting meal utterly forgotten.

_What….?_

"I was just thinking that, with your mom the way she is and your stepfather off his rail, you'd need a place to go soon. After all, they can't keep you in here forever just because you won't talk to anyone, and they haven't got any proof that you've actually done anything. When you leave, maybe you could check that school out."

Erik looked even more uncertain and Jan patted his shoulder.

"Hey, just think about it, yeah? I mean, if they could teach you to control the stuff that you can do…"

At this the boy's expression brightened. If he could control his gift then there would be no reason for anyone to yell at him, or call him cursed or a witch…he could pretend that he was just like everyone else. Maybe he could even find a way to help his mother…

"Actually I'm surprised you've never heard of it before. I mean, it's only five miles northeast of Grenleheim village." He smiled comfortingly. "Maybe you'll check it out?"

Erik shrugged. It couldn't hurt, and it would definitely be worth it if he could help his mother one day.

"Good." Then Jan winked at him. "Make sure you finish the strudel."

Confused, Erik nodded and watched as the friendly aide took his cart and backed out into the hallway once again. When the door was closed and latched in place he turned his attention to his strudel. It did look pretty good, especially compared to the rest of the tray. After a few moments he began to nibble at the edges.

_Too sweet_. He thought disparagingly. Nothing like the ones his mother could make…That made him wince and he hurriedly shoveled some more of it into his mouth. _If only I weren't trapped in…Ow!_

He spat out the mouthful of food he'd taken and stared, shocked, at the piece of metal that lay glinting on his plate.

_What the…_

Then he remembered the comment, and Jan's wink. He picked up the object, examining it closely. It was a narrow object with a long neck and a hooked end, almost like something a woman would use in her sewing to pull out a seam. However, he could tell by its appearance that it had a different use than that of assisting in mending or alterations.

_To pick the lock._ He thought wonderingly. _I could twist it around and…_ he glanced toward the door.

_"When you get out of here…_"

_He meant that they're never going to let me go. They must mean to do something, or he wouldn't even have bothered, would he?_

Erik scrambled off the bed, hurrying to the door and pressing his ear to it. The sounds of people moving about in the hallway made him draw back and, reluctantly, return to his bed. He would have to wait until night or someone would hear him. Then it would only be a matter of figuring out the lock and evading the orderlies who patrolled the halls at night and…

He would be free.

* * *

Next Chapter: The Silence in the Night

Look for the update beginning on November 2nd


	8. The Silence of the Night

AuNo: Babylonia!

Disclaimer: Weiß Kreuz is no' mine. Rated R-ish. AU and AU-not.

Potato. Potatoe?

The Silence in the Night

He crouched in the darkness, his single golden eye glittering madly as he listened to the heartbeats that were approaching his cell. The owners of those hearts were nervous, their pulses speeding up as they came near. He smiled, enjoying the taste of their fear as he traced the line of scar tissue that bisected the pit where his left eye once sat. Even the cold one who had shown no hesitation before was now slowing his steps, reluctant to come any closer.

They were all afraid of him.

_Little rabbits hiding from the fox_. He thought, the words lilting in an eerie singsong in the back of his mind. _The fox smiles, the little rabbits are lost._

He threw back his head, laughter bubbling up to spill out of his mouth in a hysterical cackle.

"I will give all of you to your God!" He exclaimed. "We will see who is crying then!"

Six of the ten hearts skipped a beat, shuddering in the chests of their owners. He licked his lips, anticipating the taste of blood on his tongue. They had never succeeded in moving him without at least some of loss of life and he was determined that this time should be no different.

"Hold him." That was the voice of the cold man, standing just outside of his cell.

With a dry chuckle the madman shuffled to the door of his cell, leaning against the door with a blissful sigh.

"Did you like your gift?" He whispered, his voice rough. "I could give you the other one, if you want a matched pair."

The cold man shuddered.

"Make sure he can't move a muscle."

The madman flinched then as an unseen force grasped him, holding every part of his body still. He was lifted and hauled away from the door, giving his attackers room to enter. The snarl that tore itself from his throat was vicious enough that the power faltered momentarily, reasserting itself a moment later.

"Fools." He growled. "Cowards."

The door opened and they filed in, six _powers_, the cold man and three whose purpose he did not know. They were young and seemed to be watching him with mixed interest and terror as if they expected to learn something from his example.

"This is Farfarello." The cold man intoned, gesturing in _his_ direction.

_Farfarello._ The madman's golden eye gleamed. _So that is my name._ His lips pulled back over his teeth and he hissed a warning at the gifted ones as they began to manipulate his body toward the door. _I don't think so._

He stiffened, resisting their power with every ounce of muscle and bone that he possessed. One of them gasped and her force slipped from him as she backed away, her eyes rolling and wild. Encouraged, he fought even harder, trying to force his body to twist and wriggle. There was a loud _­-pop-_ and he felt one of his arms slip from its socket.

"As you can see, he is unable to feel any kind of physical pain." The cold man was watching him cautiously, eyes narrowed to hide his emotions. "This allows him to resist even the strongest of our telekinetics."

The powers who still held him were gasping, sweat pouring down their faces. One staggered.

"It's like trying to hold a train by yourself." He rasped, strain beginning to show around his eyes. "I can't even feel the others holding him back."

The cold one smiled.

"It makes him useful for training purposes."

There was a sickening -_crunch-_ and the madman howled in triumph as his kneecap slid to the side. His leg was now facing the wrong direction, but he had broken the hold of another gifted one.

"Sir…" one of the remaining four murmured.

"We can't hold him much longer." Another pointed out.

The cold one sighed, and there was a great deal of disdain in it.

"Very well. Everyone move behind me."

They did so, the gifted ones slowly as if every step hurt them. When they were tucked in between the man and the door he raised his hands, allowing power to seep outward from the palms. A shield formed in front of him, sealing itself into the walls on either side of the cell.

"You may release him now."

The gifted ones sagged as they let go of the struggling man. He fell to the ground with a thud, his leg refusing to hold him up.

"Sir…"

"Just watch."

The younger ones obeyed, uncertainty in their eyes as they surveyed the madman. After a moment he reached for his dislocated shoulder. Without any emotion at all he shoved it back into place, not even wincing at the loud popping sound it made. Then he grabbed his knee in both hands, pushing and wrenching it around until it was once again in the correct place.

"Oh my god…" someone whimpered.

He smiled, rising once again to his feet. For a moment he merely stood there, rocking slightly on the balls of his feet. Then he gave a fierce cry and leapt at them, his fingers outstretched to grasp whoever happened to fall beneath his hands. He hit the shield with a sound like a clap of thunder and went flying backwards into the far wall. Four people screamed, another fell to her knees, whimpering.

Disgruntled and annoyed the madman rolled to his feet to attack once again.

"He will continue to rush us until either he loses consciousness or my shield falls. He is relentless and has no fear of death." At this the cold one smiled. "You should all try to be a little more like that."

Then he turned his back on the pale man, who smiled humorlessly, the only one to know how much that move had cost the cold one.

"The lesson is over for today. We don't want him to kill himself quite yet."

It seemed that the nine others could not get out of the cell fast enough, practically tripping over one another in the effort to escape. Before he followed the cold man glanced back at his captive madman, tipping him a mocking salute.

"You might reconsider killing me just yet." He said conversationally. "I'm currently the only thing keeping you alive." Then he smiled. "Sleep well Farfarello."

He left, shutting the door behind him. It wasn't until the bolts slid back into place that the shield dropped. With a howl of pure rage the madman hurled himself at the door, slamming into it hard enough to leave a dent where he struck.

"God will cry at your death!" He cried. "But I will laugh and lick your blood from my knife!"

Then he was alone again and he went back to crouching in the corner of the room. After a moment he shivered and put his hands over his ears, trying to drown out the never-ending heartbeats and the voices that prayed ceaselessly in the back of his mind. Over their voices he imposed his own, for he had long forgotten the name his mother had given him, but now he had a new one.

_I am Farfarello. Farfarello! I say that you will be silent!_

Almost surprised, the voices came to a halt. He let his hands fall from his ears, relief making him sag against the wall. For a few moments all was sweet silence. Then, in a rising tide all the sound came back.

The only difference was, now the voices knew his name.

* * *

Nagi was happy. _Happy_. It didn't seem right to think that, even if it were true. He couldn't remember the last time that he'd been able to say that about himself. Certainly not when he was struggling to survive on the streets. Even when he was still living with his parents whatever contentment or safety he'd felt had been overshadowed by his fear of their disapproval. Now, living with Tanaka-san…

"I'm going to run some errands Nagi." The older woman said, drawing his attention from the book he was reading.

"Okay Tanaka-san."

"You can stay here and read if you like. Remember, we're having dinner with the kids tonight so don't disappear or anything."

Nagi smiled. There had been a few occasions when Tanaka-san had come home to find him missing, off on a walk through the neighborhood or playing with the dogs who lived down by the docks. He was unused to having someone around who worried about him and, after the third terrified call to the police she had finally convinced him to tell her before he left the house. At the very least, she'd asked him to leave a note so that she would know he hadn't been abducted.

"I don't plan on going out this afternoon Tanaka-san." He assured her. "If I go outside I'll stay in the garden."

Tanaka-san looked relieved, her expression easing into a warm smile.

"All right then, I'll be back in a couple of hours."

He nodded and was quickly lost again in the pages of his book, eyes taking in words at an amazing rate. Tanaka-san shook her head, amusement dancing in her eyes as she collected her purse and car keys. The boy had worked his way through more than half the library in the time that he'd been living with her. He would be starting school in a few days and she was interested to see what his teachers would make of him.

She was also interested to see what her own children would say that night at dinner when they met him for the first time.

"He's so quiet." That was Kyoko, her oldest speaking as she helped her mother carry dishes into the kitchen after dinner. "Does he ever talk?"

"Hardly ever." Tanaka-san admitted. "He's very well behaved, and he absolutely loves to read."

Kyoko laughed.

"Then he definitely came to the right house, didn't he mother?" She asked. Her own childhood had been spent in the little library on the second floor, surrounded by stacks of books.

Dinner had gone fairly well though, as Kyoko had pointed out, Nagi spoke very little. He answered the questions directed toward him, though he often didn't really have an answer to give. His table manners had improved greatly since the first meal he'd eaten in the Tanaka household, and he didn't jump or pull away when someone came near. Tanaka-san saw it as something as a success, a milestone that had been crossed on the way to making the boy a part of her family.

"We should probably go make sure the poor thing's doing all right." Kyoko pointed out. "Michi and Toshi can be somewhat…intense."

Tanaka-san smiled.

"Somehow, I think he's probably holding his own."

They returned to the sitting room where Michiko and Toshi were busy arguing about some undefined subject. To the surprise of Tanaka-san and Kyoko Nagi was cheerfully interjecting his own comments into the debate.

"Yes, that's true," He was saying in a conversational tone. "But from what you've said, Vergil wrote about heroes. If he wrote about men greater than gods then he couldn't be writing about real life and the common man."

"Well that's…." Michiko faltered.

"I mean you…" Toshi closed his mouth.

"I think Nagi won that argument." Tanaka-san, smiling. Her two younger children were looking at each other with slightly embarrassed expressions on their faces. Then they turned to Nagi.

"You're good kid." Michiko admitted.

"Better than good." Toshi agreed.

"Would you write my term paper for me?" Michiko inquired.

"Michi!" Tanaka-san looked horrified.

"Aw, I was only kidding mom. If he just took notes for me then I could write the paper myself…"

"All right." Tanaka-san said loudly, drowning the rest of the girl's words out with her voice. "Who wants dessert?"

Nagi laughed, covering his mouth with his hand. He ducked his head a little, unable to fully contain the smile that pulled at his lips.

"Let's see, we have all American dishes tonight, peach cobbler and chocolate fudge brownies…"

_Yes,_ he thought as he watched Tanaka-san begin serving dessert. _I am happy. _

"What would you like Nagi?"

He looked up, carefully examining the two plates before gesturing silently to the peach cobbler. He took the plate, awkwardly accepting the fork (he really had no idea how to use one) and watched as the others began to enjoy their dessert.

In that moment it never would have occurred to him that, maybe, his newfound happiness would not last.

* * *

Erik was escaping.

He'd spent almost a week in preparation, stashing food, learning how to pick the lock on the door, and 'borrowing' a pair of work boots from one of the aide's lockers. Every day that Jan had found him still sitting by the window when it came time for lunch the man had a profound look of disappointment and, lately, fear. He dropped hints and suggestions with every word he spoke until he finally grasped the young man by the shoulder, leaning in close.

"You have to get out of here." He said hurriedly. "They're planning something for you and if you don't escape soon it will be too late."

Erik had required no further urgings. He kept aside most of his lunch and dinner, waited until the lights went out in the institution, and picked the lock on his door.

Now he was creeping silently down the hallway, choosing his steps carefully to avoid making a sound on the smooth tile floor. The boots were still in the pack he'd made out of his pillow case; he would put them on as soon as he gained the courtyard down below. Then he would walk to Grenleheim and find his way to the school that Jan had told him about…

"It was just like I was saying to Uri last week. These doctors don't know a darned thing about taking care of a violent patient. Their only answer is to use one sedative after another until their patients can't even form a coherent sentence."

Erik hurriedly ducked behind a forgotten food cart, holding his breath as he fought not to make a noise.

"I know what you mean. The guy down the hall, Martel Andler. He could use a sympathetic ear and fewer narcotic cocktails if you ask me."

"The one who's always ranting about the spawn of the devil?"

The two nurses moved past Erik's hiding place, continuing their discussion, oblivious that one of their patients was not in his room. He waited until they had moved through the double doors at the end of the corridor before he came out from behind the cart.

_I guess stepfather really has lost his mind._ He thought as he approached the double doors. Then a thought hit him and he went very still. _Unless he's perfectly sane and he's just talking about me._

He shook his head, forcing the thought away. It wouldn't do to think like that when he was trying to escape. Guilt would slow him down. He could not be Schuldig here. No matter how guilty he was he had to be Erik if he were to escape.

_I will not lie once I am free, Mother. Then I will call myself for what I truly am, so that everyone will know. I am Guilty. I am Schuldig._

When he reached the double doors he had to wait, crouching behind the laundry bin that was waiting for the morning shift to wheel it away. One of the orderlies would be around in a few minutes to make sure all was well. With any luck he would sneak through the door before it closed and no one would notice that he was missing until someone came with breakfast.

Before he could leave the hospital however, there was one stop that he had to make.

The double doors opened right on schedule, admitting a tall man Erik had never seen before. He darted around behind the aide, catching the door before it could fall closed and lock him in again. Then he shimmied through the opening, staying down to avoid the nurses at the station just outside.

It turned out to be easier than he'd thought; the nurses were all off on their smoking break and there was no one to avoid as he hurried toward the stair well. He'd already deemed the elevator to be far too risky; there was nowhere to run to if the doors opened and a doctor was standing on the other side.

When he had the door to the emergency stairs shut firmly behind him and he was on his way up to the next floor he allowed himself to feel the first small rush of freedom.

He was going to do this.

A floor and a hallway later, he wasn't so sure. There had been a nurse standing at the top of the stairs smoking a cigarette and talking to someone on her cellular phone. If he hadn't heard her laughing before he reached the top she would have seen him and his brief escapade into the life of a free man would have been over before it really began. As it was he'd been forced to hide just under the landing for almost twenty minutes before the woman finally finished her cigarette, hung up the phone, and went back up to her station on the fifth floor.

Thinking that would be the end of his troubles for the night Erik hurried through the doorway at the top of the stairs and had approximately three and a half seconds to stop, drop, and roll behind an abandoned gurney before the security officer on the floor turned in his direction.

_Ohshitohshitohshithshitohshitohshithshitohshitohshit…_

The guard walked within two feet of him and never looked down. If he had he would have seen a skinny teenage boy with narrow shoulders and fiery red hair huddled in a hospital gown at his feet, eyes screwed tightly shut.

Then, with a dull curse and a grumble the guard was off to venture through another wing of the hospital.

Erik let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, took a moment to collect himself, and slowly began making his way toward the room at the end of the hall. The room was 505C and the name in the clear plastic screen on the door read 'Andler, Margo' in neat block-type letters.

His mother was lying on her back, eyes closed, long fiery hair spread out across her pillow. She might have been asleep, if her mind had not held the stunning depth of utter silence that it did. As it was Erik could not even hear a breath, an echo, a whisper of his mother's thoughts.

He came to sit on the edge of the bed, taking her hand in his and staring silently down at her face.

_Mother?_

Nothing. Not even a faint hum to let him know she could hear him.

_Mother it's Erik._

He listened with every part of his body, even going so far as to close his eyes and hold his breath, straining for even the slightest sound.

Still nothing.

_Mother, I wanted to tell you that I'm getting out of this place. I'm going to a school nearby, where they can teach me how to control what I can do. I'll be listening for you, so when you wake up you can just call for me and I'll come to get you._

He reached out to touch her face, moving a stray lock of hair out of her eyes.

_I promise, I'll come back for you._

It was a while before he could bring himself to leave her side. When he did it was reluctantly, slowly, and he glanced over his shoulder several times before the door swung closed behind him and he could no longer see her.

_Erik, run!_

It was Jan's voice, ringing through his mind with a command that made him wince at its intensity.

_Run! They know you're missing, now get the hell out of the building!_

He faltered, then stumbled into a sprint that took him to the stairs in only a few moments. There were shouts coming from the floor below and he leapt back into the main hallway, glancing around frantically in an effort to find another way to get out.

_The window in the game room! It leads out onto the roof of the children's wing. Hurry!_

Without a word Erik obeyed Jan's voice, running to the game room. He struggled with the window, tugging ineffectually at it until it gave way with a protesting groan. The alarms were going off now, the high-pitched shrieking coming from the floor below telling him that there would be security guards searching the grounds.

He leapt out onto the roof of the children's wing, coming to a halt at the edge. His stomach lurched at the sight of the drop before him and he swallowed, glancing back over his shoulder briefly. In a few moments they would run past one of the windows and see him standing there, and all his efforts would have been in vain.

_I'll come back mother._ He thought fiercely as he began to climb down the side of he building, using the ledges of the windows as foot and hand rests. _I promise, one day I will come back for you._

Then he was running through the courtyard, green eyes wide with fear and an exhilaration that came with being free for the first time in months.

It wasn't until he saw the sign for Nuir village that he realized he'd done it. The country hospital was far behind him and nothing lay ahead but the road to Grenleheim.

He was free.

* * *

Since the moment she'd set foot in the village of Grenleheim Yumemiru had felt that she was being watched. Not in the literal sense, though if they'd wanted to the agents at the academy could have had half a dozen people designated to follow her. It was more in the metaphysical sense. She felt that every thought, every silent prayer and breathless plea uttered in the depths of her mind was heard and recorded by someone beyond her line of sight. Her future was known, her intentions had been discussed by men in laboratory coats and her motives were common knowledge among every student and faculty member in her old school.

But maybe that was just her nerves acting up.

Whatever it was, Brad Crawford had noticed. All the way from the airport Yume continuously glanced back the way that they had come. Her shoulders were drawn and her posture rigid, as if she expected an attack at any moment. At the inn she watched the other residents with enough fear and suspicion that it made him somewhat uncomfortable. Then, when Walt called from L.A. to check up on him and ensure he _was_ indeed coming back the sound of the phone ringing had sent his girlfriend into near hysterics.

As he climbed out of the shower of their room at the inn, he thought it was about time he found out why she was so distressed.

When he walked into the main area of the room Yume was on the phone, her hand cupped around the receiver as she spoke, her voice quickly approaching panic.

"You don't under…"

She stopped as though she'd been cut off and he watched with concern as her shoulders hunched even further.

"I am not saying 'no'." She snapped. "I'm just asking for one more day."

There was a long silence and at the end of it Yume spoke, sounding as if she were about to cry.

"I understand. I won't be late."

Then she hung up the phone and turned toward him, smiling unconvincingly as he crossed the room toward her.

"Yume, what…"

Before he could ask her what was wrong she'd flung herself into his arms, grabbing him hard enough that all the air left him in a rush. She was crying softly, her face pressed into his shoulder as she shuddered with sobs.

"Yume-"

"Please," She whispered harshly. "Please don't ask."

"But…"

"If you love me, for god's sake Bradley just don't ask!"

The desperation in her voice, the plea in her tone made him close his mouth. When she realized he wasn't going to try to speak again she let out a heavy sigh and relaxed against him.

"Just hold me for a while." She murmured.

He complied, smoothing his hand over her hair, eyes troubled. Something was obviously very wrong, but if she wouldn't tell him what it was there was nothing he could do.

"Why don't we sit?" He asked gently, pulling her toward the edge of the bed.

"No." She turned her face up to him, seeking his mouth for a kiss. "Let's not."

He didn't protest. He let her pull him down with her, trying to read the expression in her eyes as she kissed him.

Afterwards he sat by the window watching her sleep. He was restless, unable to settle down when his mind was buzzing like a hornet behind his eyes. Every part of his body was screaming at him to run, to take the first flight back to L.A. and to forget that he'd ever met a charming Japanese woman with dazzling black eyes. Every part of him, that is, except for his heart.

Love can make a person do foolish things. It can cause them to abandon their family, to betray their friends or destroy their career. Sometimes people steal for it, kill for it, die for it.

Bradley Crawford was no fool. For all that he was still, for the most part, an innocent, he knew that something terrible was going to happen. Yumemiru felt guilty about something, and she was terrified that they were going to the school in the morning. Somehow, that was the root of it.

Love can make a person do foolish things. For Bradley Crawford it made him keep his peace and sit in the darkness, waiting in silence for the dawn.

Whatever was going to happen, he would not leave her now.

* * *

Next Chapter: A Blood-red Sun is Rising

Look for the update on November 16th.


	9. A Bloodred Sun is Rising

OooNo: Blehflu

Disclaimah: The Rating is R, Weiß Kreuz is not mine. AU and still not.

Fluffy gummy bears from Peru

A Blood-red Sun is Rising

He was cold. His vision blurred, the edges softening, colors running together as his eyes stung and streamed with moisture. Sometime in the night it had begun to snow, thick fat flakes drifting down from the sky at a leisurely pace. It was what his mother had always called a quiet, killing snow. If you weren't paying attention you would lay down and fall asleep without ever realizing the danger you were in.

He'd been walking for most of the night. Every now and then the distant hazy lights of a car would warn him off the road and he would crouch, shivering, in the ditch until it passed. Then back on the road again, putting one foot in front of the other with his hands shoved deeply into the pockets of his trousers. By the time he reached the three mile marker his hospital gown was wet with ice and sticking to his already chilled skin.

Now he was past the village of Grenleheim, beyond the open fields and the barking dogs that he had silenced with little more than a thought. His movements were slow, his eyes fixed steadfastly on the narrow stretch of ground just a few feet ahead of him. That strip of white and gray slush had become his world; anything beyond it was utterly beyond his comprehension.

Suddenly he stopped, lifting his face slightly and wincing as the bitter wind tore at his cheeks. For a moment he was lost, unable to find the reason why he could go no further. Then he realized, and felt a strange tightening in his gut.

He was standing in front of a set of massive iron gates. A vast stone wall extended from either side, stretching off into the distance until they melted into the horizon. Through the bars of the gate he could see a long, winding drive and…there. That had to be the school. A massive structure of stone that seemed to loom over the countryside, brooding and dark with menace.

_It's warmer here._ He thought absently, reaching up to trace the looping design of the gate. His hands shook and he frowned, staring at his fingers as he tried to figure out why he couldn't make them move.

After a moment he lost interest and turned his gaze upward, to the steel-gray of the sky as it arched over the building and grounds. It was still snowing, the flakes idling gracefully down to frost his lashes and melt on his neck.

_I'm so tired._ He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling weariness beginning to pull him toward sleep. _Maybe if I just sat, for a moment…_

Almost before he could finish the thought he was kneeling in the snow, and his trousers were soaked through, though he could no more feel his knees than he could feel his feet. It seemed almost funny then and he laughed softly, bowing his head until it rested on the ground.

_Warm…_

He fell to his side and tried to burrow further into the warmth, resting his head against a drift with a sigh. He hadn't been this warm since he was a small child, when he had nightmares and slept in his mother's bed with all its heaped blankets.

_Mutter…_His thoughts began to separate, spanning out across his mind until they seemed to echo through his head. _Mutter…it's….warm…and…I…._

There was nothing more. Nothing but the soft whisper of falling snow and the sigh of wind as it whirled over the plains. In only a few moments the fresh flakes covered the footprints that led up to the gate. A few more and the young man was disappearing, his shock of fiery hair frosted white. Then he was gone and there was only a dimple left in the snow where he had been.

And to the east, sliding over the curve of the world with all the lazy arrogance of a fat old woman, a blood-red sun was rising.

* * *

"You didn't sleep."

Brad Crawford turned from his position at the window to see Yume staring up at him, her dark eyes calm and lucid. It seemed that whatever had thrown her into a panic the night before had left her. For some very strange reason, that bothered him.

"No." He said finally. "I didn't."

She propped herself up on her elbows, a tiny frown marring her lips.

"Bradley…"

He smiled and moved swiftly to the side of the bed, leaning in to kiss her before she could say another word.

"I'll order breakfast." He murmured against her hair. When he pulled away her expression had relaxed once more. "What would you like?"

She shrugged, tucking an errant strand of hair behind one ear.

"You know what I like." She replied. Then she was sliding out of bed, balancing lightly on the balls of her feet as she arched up in a bone-cracking stretch. "I'm going to take a shower."

"Go ahead."

He watched her walk lightly to the bathroom, her hair swaying to her waist. Before she could disappear into the yellow-wallpapered room he called out, making her pause.

"Yume."

She turned, a quizzical expression on her face.

"What kind of tea do you want?"

She smiled, and there was a hint of her old humor in it.

"They only have one kind." She replied. Then she shut the door, and a few moments later he heard the water running.

Shaking his head Brad Crawford moved to sit on the edge of the bed and picked up the telephone, dialing the number for room service.

_I can't believe I'm doing this._

Yume stood under the hot spray of water, her eyes closed, arms braced against the wall as she leaned her head down. Last night she had been terrified, her thoughts too muddled for her to understand half of what was going through her head. Today however…today she was all too sane and things were making far too much sense…

_I must be out of my fucking mind. This is never going to work._

Of course, she was going to do it anyway, but that was beside the point. The point was that she was in up to her neck in shit and she was about to take a deep breath and go under all the way. Whether or not she would come out a live in the end wasn't really the question; it was whether or not _he_ would…

There was a knock on the door and she half-jumped out of her skin before turning a properly sheepish smile toward the sound.

"Yes?"

"They said the food will be up in fifteen minutes."

"All right. I'll be finished in just a moment."

She finished her shower and shut the water off, wrapping a towel around herself as she made her way back into the bedroom.

_No one has ever tried to defy Rosenkreuz before._ She thought as she dried herself off and began to dress. _No one's ever even thought about it. Most of us don't have the freedom to even begin considering it, much less actually planning it out and taking action._

"If the food gets here before I'm done, yell." Bradley said, leaning in to kiss her cheek before he headed for the shower himself.

Yume watched him go, a slightly wistful expression on her face. Then she sighed and stood up, moving toward the window. She pulled the curtain back and leaned to press her forehead against the glass.

_Red sky in the morning is a shepherd's warning. Red sky at night is a shepherd's delight._

She smiled slightly and shook her head.

_I wonder if I should consider this _my_ warning._ She thought, moving away slowly, _Or theirs._

* * *

Gunner Valhendt could have cared less what color the sun was when it rose. His thoughts were on matters he considered to be far more important than some silly superstition. Esset was breathing down his neck about Moraven's prophecies again, demanding copies of her journals and information on the new precog as well. If he didn't find something to make them shut up he was going to have to begin explaining why he hadn't bothered to dispose of the madman he was keeping in the basement…

"Sir."

…and then they might start poking their noses into his private files…

"Sir."

…coming up with all the minor offenses he'd committed over the years and bringing a ridiculous case against him…

"SIR."

…the damned bastards had been trying to get at him for years…

"SIR!"

He slammed his coffee cup down on the table and turned to glare at his secretary who, unfazed by all this, merely coughed politely and adjusted her grip on her clipboard.

"Sir, the head doctor from the Vielvor Mental Hospital is waiting outside to speak with you."

"Hiram? What the hell does he want?" Valhendt snarled. "As if I'm not already busy enough…"

"Shall I send him in sir?"

"What? Yes, you might as well." He snorted. "If we make him wait too long he'll start to get curious. I'd really hate to kill him; he's rather useful."

His secretary coughed again, shot him a warning glass, and retreated to the door of his office. A few moments later the door burst open and Dr. Joseph Hiram came storming in, his thick eyebrows drawn together until they resembled thunderclouds over the pale blue of his eyes.

"What is it Hiram?"

"What is it?" The small, curly-haired man sputtered. "What is it? You…you dare to ask me that after what you've done?"

Valhendt raised an eyebrow, amusement gleaming in his eyes.

"What precisely have I done?"

"You stole him from me! The telepath, the one I was keeping for my experiments. You…you stole him right out from under me you foul…"

"Now, now Hiram, name-calling isn't going to earn you any respect around here. Besides, from what I understand the boy escaped on his own and came here. We did not abduct him from your hospital, and we certainly didn't check him out ourselves. Really, you should maintain your establishment with a keener eye before you go around thrusting accusations at your old friends."

The little doctor snorted.

"Old friend, hah! You'd steal my hospital out from under me if you thought it would gain you anything."

"That," Valhendt said flatly, "is entirely beside the point. The fact of the matter is, the boy came here of his own volition and due to the contract that I signed when I became headmaster of this little school, I am forced to honor his privacy and his choice to attend here. Besides, we pulled him fresh out of the snow. He was as good as dead and you know it."

"Oh…damnit Valhendt." Hiram growled, his anger fading as he threw himself into a chair. "I hate it when you do that."

"Yes well, you can keep the mother, if that makes you feel any better."

"Really?" The doctor brightened. "She's not as strong as the son but she did seem a promising candidate…"

"Yes, yes, go ahead. Run your little experiments. Hook wires into her brain and prod her until she expires, I really couldn't care less. It's no concern of mine whether she dies or not. She might have been useful to control him but there are certainly other ways of doing that, and I wouldn't want to deprive you of all your fun."

Hiram chuckled.

"Damn straight." He stood, shoving dark hair back from his forehead. "You can keep him then, I suppose. Sorry to bother you, old friend."

"Just out of curiosity…"

The other man stopped on his way out, turning.

"Just out of curiosity?"

"I just wanted to know why his tag bracelet didn't have his name on it."

"Oh that." Hiram shrugged. "The orderlies called him that, I had nothing to do with it. Is that all?" The doctor didn't even wait for a reply, shoving through the door once more.

Left alone in his office Valhendt cocked his head to one side, turning Erik Andler's hospital tag bracelet over in his hands, examining it. After a few moments he set it down and reached into his desk for the files that he knew were there. He pulled one to the top and, using a new label, he covered the old entry on the tab with a smooth motion. Then he pulled out a pen and scrawled a new name on the white sticker, smiling with satisfaction when he placed it back with the others.

_Bradley Crawford, Naoe Nagi, Farfarello, and Schuldig. Schwarz._

* * *

Nagi's eyes went over and over the report card, trying to think of a way to make it so that the words didn't hurt quite so much. In the columns for grades it was line after line of perfect marks…until you got to physical education. He was too small to be any good at the games that they played. No one wanted to have him on their team because he always got hurt or moved out of the way of the ball. Some of the boys even…

He pushed the thought from his mind. It didn't matter. He was better off now than he'd ever been before. There was no reason for him to complain. If things weren't exactly perfect well…that was his fault wasn't it? He'd just have to try harder. They would be playing tennis soon. Maybe he would be better at that…

"Konbanwa Naoe-kun."

Nagi's head jerked up and he turned to see that one of the girls from his class had fallen into step beside him.

"K..Konbanwa Isoki-chan-" He bit back a cry as an elbow drove itself into his side and his books went flying from his arms. His grade slip followed, landing in a puddle a few feet away.

Raucous laughter filled his ears and he blushed scarlet as he hurried to pick up his things, doing his best to ignore the boys who were walking away from him.

"Jerks."

He blinked, looking up to see Isoki-chan kneeling to help him gather his things. She even bent to retrieve his grade slip, handing it to him with a shy smile.

"You shouldn't pay any attention to them Nagi-kun. They're just jealous because you're smarter than they are."

"Arigato Isoki-chan." He mumbled. He hurriedly finished collecting his things, trying to avoid her gaze.

"You should smile more."

"Nani?" He looked at her, surprised.

She grinned.

"You should smile more often." Then she leaned in so that her lips were next to his ear. "I think you're cute." Then, with a giggle, she darted away. When she was a few feet away she turned and waved at him. "I'll see you tomorrow Nagi-kun."

He felt a tiny smile tug at his lips and he returned the wave a little awkwardly, still blushing furiously. When he set off again his step was a little lighter, and he held his head a little higher as well.

When he arrived back at Tanaka-san's house she was waiting in the kitchen as always, smiling warmly at him. He presented his grade slip and watched with a feeling of joy as her expression filled with pride.

"This is very good Nagi." She said, reaching out to smooth his hair affectionately. "Very, very good." She moved to put it up on the refrigerator where everyone could see it. Then she turned back to him. "Since you're doing so well in school, why don't we have a little celebration before you go off to do your homework?"

Nagi grinned.

"Can…" He licked his lips. "Can we have muffins?"

Tanaka-san laughed. Ever since his first day in her house the boy had shown an amazing love for the western-style breakfast food.

"Yes Nagi. We can have muffins. I'll make them just for you. What kind would you like?"

With that the boy plopped himself into a chair, leaning his chin into his hands as he watched her excitedly.

"Blueberry please Tanaka-san."

"Blueberry it is." She began retrieving the ingredients from the cupboard. "So, how was your day?"

Then she listened as the boy babbled excitedly about his schoolwork, going on about the extra work the teacher had given him and what they were studying in class. She felt a strange pang in her chest however, when she realized that not once, not a single time, did he mention any of the other children.

* * *

He opened his eyes, and the first thing that he knew was pain. Every part of his body was screaming with agony; it felt like fire raced through his veins in place of blood. When he gave a tiny cry his voice came out in a hoarse, rasping shout that made him feel as if his vocal chords had been shredded. His head was pounding and felt thick and heavy, as if it were full of hot lead.

"He's awake."

He turned his head and whimpered at the pain it caused. His eyes settled on a tall man who was standing next to his…bed? What was he doing in a bed? The last thing he remembered was being out in the snow and…oh. Well, he thought wryly, that explained why it hurt so much to move. He was probably frostbitten all to hell.

"Heissen Sie Schuldig."

He blinked owlishly. It took several moments for the statement to process and even then it required a few mental acrobatics. Then he remembered the tag bracelet from the hospital, the words of the orderlies…

"Ja. Ich heisse Schuldig."

The man standing over him nodded abruptly and disappeared for a moment. When he returned he was holding a cup full of steaming liquid. He helped the boy sit up and support him while he drank, taking the cup away after a few moments.

"Sprechen Sie Englisch?"

"Yes."

"Good. Do you know where you are?"

"The Rosenkreuz School?"

"Yes. One of our older students found you outside in the snow." The man gave him a stern look. "You were very close to dying you know. We had to have three of our best healers work on you and even then it was a near thing."

"It's not like I had much choice." The boy, Schuldig, snapped grumpily. His head was still pounding and it was putting him in a foul mood.

For several long moments the other man regarded him in stony silence. Then he smiled slightly, and there was a trace of approval in his eyes.

"You may just survive here yet, Schuldig." The man coughed. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to tell our headmaster that you're awake."

"Don't hurry back." Schuldig called after him. Then the door closed and he sagged back against the cot, wincing slightly in pain. "Ah Mutter." He murmured softly. "I'm going to come back for you, I promise."

_Some promises cannot be kept._

He lifted his head, eyes wide.

_What?_

Silence. After a few seconds he lowered his head again, staring up at the plain white of the ceiling.

_Just a word of advice, Prophet to Mastermind,_

He blinked, straining his thoughts to catch the words and struggling to figure out where they were coming from.

_If you ever find yourself in a rather compromising situation…Don't get caught._

Then it was silent once again, and with a grumble Schuldig rolled onto his side.

"Damnit," He muttered sourly. "Now my headache's worse."

* * *

The madman was pacing. One-two-three-four-five-six (turn) six-five-four-three-two-one (turn)…He flung himself at the door, slamming both fists against the cold metal until blood spurted and stained it red. He could feel it, could feel the blood pulsing under his skin, could feel the itch in his bones that told him it was coming. Somewhere in the heavens God was crying like a child, because the thing HE feared was finally coming to pass.

"I hear them," He snarled, and bashed his forehead against the metal with a grunt. The skin split and wept blood into his remaining golden eye, the liquid pooling in the hollow where the other eye was not. "I hear them, coming, moving closer."

He reached up with his hands and dug his fingers into his shoulders, using his nails to scrape the skin along his arms and down his sides. The itch, the burn, he couldn't make it stop. Blood was pounding through him, screaming, demanding he acknowledge it.

"I can feel them." He whispered harshly. Then he tilted his head back, fixing his eerie glare on the stones above his door. "I can feel them. They are almost here. He is almost here."

For a moment he was quiet, straining his ears, forcing his body into utter stillness as he strained to pick up whatever it was that hovered on the edge of his senses. Then his entire body shuddered and he gave a fierce howl of rage, throwing himself once again at the door.

This time one hand flashed through the bars and contacted with flesh. Fingers closed and pulled, yanked, dug until they came back wet and gleaming. He laughed, the sound filling the cell and echoing through the hallway as the recently deceased guard fell to the ground, blood pouring from the gaping wound in his throat. He had made the mistake of wandering too close to the door of the cell where the Irish madman was kept, a fate three other guards had met since he'd moved into the basement dungeon of Rosenkreuz school.

After a few moments he danced back into the darkness of his prison, holding his head in his hands and swaying back and forth.

"Coming, coming, coming, coming…" He spun around and fell to his knees, still whispering softly. "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit," He rasped. "Amen, amen, amen, amen." He bowed his head, clasping his hands in front of him. "God must confess. He has done wrong, he must confess!"

He leapt to his feet and staggered to the far wall.

"CONFESS! The Wolf is coming and he will not let you be! He will eat your sheep whole and we will bathe in their blood! The Wolf is coming! The Fox is here! Their blood is in the air, I smell them."

Then he could hear the feet thundering down the distant stairs and he knew they were coming again. The same ones who had come before with their gifts and the things that made him sleep. He backed into the corning, hissing low in his throat and glaring in defiance at the door.

"The Wolf is coming." He whispered darkly. Then he shuddered. The blood burned, it itched, it demanded his attention.

He fell silent, and felt satisfaction as the rabbits stumbled to a halt outside the door.

* * *

They were standing in the open courtyard, almost lost in the shadow of the school where it towered over them. Almost the moment that they'd set foot on the property Yume had changed. She had set her shoulders and lifted her chin, revealing dark eyes that were as solid and unyielding as stone. When she walked it was with long, confident strides and not once in their journey down the mile drive had she hesitated, or tried to look back.

The differences, Bradley noted as he walked half a step behind her, were not entirely physical. He had the sense that something about her personality was altered, that some fundamental element that made her who she was had been safely locked away. The knowledge unnerved him, and not for the first time in the past few days he wondered what kind of place Rosenkreuz was, to cause such a change.

"Yume…"

She didn't even pause in her step.

"What is it?"

"I don't like this." He said softly, reaching for her hand. "What are we doing here?"

"What are you talking about Crawford? You're the one who wanted to come here."

He flinched. Why was she calling him by his last name? It was all so strange…it didn't make any sense…He lurched in his step, gasping softly as his sight blurred and faded into something else. His entire body jerked once and he fell to his knees in the snow, not even realizing it as he gazed at something far behind human sight.

_"Do it Schuldig!"_

_"But I…"_

_"Do it, or I shall send you back to be a rat in the hospital lab."_

_The young man looked stricken, his fiery hair contrasting his suddenly death-white skin. He lowered his head and muttered a feeble agreement before turning, facing someone he could not see…_

_"I'm sorry." The young man, Schuldig, whispered. "Please, forgive me."_

_Then he did something. It was enough to rattle Bradley's bones and make him clench his teeth against the wrenching rush of power that flooded the room. For a minute it hurt to breathe and then…_

_"I'm sorry, do I know you?"_

_He opened his eyes, and it was Yume standing there with a confused expression on her face, not a flicker of recognition in her eyes…_

"Crawford."

He blinked, raised his head. Yume was kneeling in front of him, looking directly into his eyes. There was a slight frown on her lips and he could finally read her expression, could see the concern wedged tightly behind the mask that she had put on. Relief flooded him and he gave a tight smile, a nod.

"Shall we go?" He asked a little roughly, climbing to his feet and gesturing for her to continue.

For a moment she regarded him with a strange wariness in her eyes. Finally however she gave a curt nod and began walking once more. Bradley followed without another thought, forcing his mind away from the vision that had so violently assaulted him a few seconds before.

Something bad was going to happen. If he took a moment to think about it, to reflect on the vision and try to see more, he knew, he would find out what it was. Yet he did not. He merely followed his girlfriend in through the elaborately carved doors and into the main hall of the school.

Whatever it was, whatever was going to destroy his world in the next few hours….

He didn't want to know.

* * *

Valhendt watched the two moving through the courtyard, recognized the tense stance that Hito had assumed the moment she stepped through the gate. They would be entering the main hall in just a few minutes and the game would finally begin. He would set things in motion that would carry them all along for the next ten years and ensure that, finally, he would have what he had always wanted.

His motives were his own. Moraven had known most of it through the accident of her gift but even she had never been able to guess at his reasons, at his ultimate goal. She only shook her head with a wry smile and patted his knee with sympathy and affection.

_"You're going to get yourself killed one day my friend. This little game of yours is going to claim your life."_

He always smiled back at her, taking another sip of the tea that she always insisted on brewing for him, and he would say,

_"I know." _Then he would cock his head to one side. _"Could you pass the cookies?"_

He heaved a weary sigh and stood up, moving slowly toward the door. If he didn't go now he would miss them. This wouldn't work if he didn't show up, that much he knew for certain. He had to be there, for more than one reason. She deserved his presence at least, with what he was preparing to do…

As he began to descend the winding staircase that led into the main hall he idly wondered what Moraven would say if she were here.

_You've got a world of heartache ahead of you, old friend. You're going to destroy a world._

He smiled at her voice in his head and replied in kind.

_Ah, but I am going to create one as well. That is the payoff._

There was a sigh, and he felt an inexplicable sadness wash over him.

_Whatever you say babe. Whatever you say.

* * *

_

Yeah...no comment. 


	10. We All Fall Down

Pookie: Mun-mun

Dyssklaymor: Let's face it, if you've gotten this far, you know the deal.

Stop twitching, you're making me go cross-eyed

We All Fall Down

They were standing in what Bradley could only have described as a Hall, capital letter intended. The room was vast, several times the size of his apartment and made entirely of stone. Massive pillars lined the central walkway and the shadows beyond them were thick, barely illuminated by the lights that had been intermittently placed along the walls. He had the feeling that if he spoke above a whisper his voice would be seized by the enormous space around him and it would be carried away, echoing along the columns and through the archway he could distantly make out at the far end of the room.

"Bradley."

He blinked, pulled from his examinations by the sound of his girlfriend's voice. She was looking at him, every shred of her previous fear gone from her eyes.

"What are we doing here?" He asked softly, unable to keep the accusation from his tone.

She flinched; he felt a little better. Perhaps she was still human after all.

"Waiting." Her breath came out in a weak murmur and her lashes flickered over her dark eyes for a brief instant.

When she looked back at him he could see _her_, could see the whirlwind of emotions warring in her gaze. Before he could even begin to identify what he saw in her eyes they settled, emotions disappearing to be replaced by that look, that hard-as-granite look that chilled him to the bone.

"Waiting for what?" He pressed, trying to keep the tremor from his voice.

She took a deep, shuddering breath and opened her mouth to speak. He realized with a start that there were tears on her cheeks, glittering like hard diamonds against her flesh.

"I'm sorry." She whispered the words, her voice hoarse.

"It's funny, how little those words can mean."

Bradley turned toward the source of the comment and felt the tight ball of dread that had been sitting in his stomach for days suddenly expand, spreading through his entire body. The man walking toward them out of the shadows was tall, of middle-age with dark, gray-streaked hair and a thick beard. He smiled a little smugly as he came to a halt beside Yume.

"Especially," He continued, "when the person who says them isn't really that apologetic to being with."

Bradley had thought Yume was pale before. Now he was able to watch as the last of the blood slipped from her face. She drew her shoulders in almost meekly, lowering her gaze. She looked so strange next to the other man, vulnerable in a way that Bradley had never imagined she could be. Gods she'd always seemed so _strong…_

He licked his lips, forcing his attention to the stranger.

"What are you talking about?" His own voice sounded entirely too calm for this situation and he wondered about it.

"Shall I tell him Yume? Shall I tell him everything?"

"Tell me what?"

He watched as his girlfriend hunched her shoulders even lower, seeming to want to collapse in on herself. She didn't look at him.

"I didn't want it to be this way Brad, I really didn't."

"Oh my dear, do stop with the melodrama." The stranger offered a pleasant smile than raised the hairs on the boxer's arms. "My name is Gunner Valhendt. I am the Headmaster of the Rosenkreuz School. It truly is my pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"I'm afraid that I can't say the same." Bradley replied stiffly. "Yume come, we're going."

"Oh no Mr. Crawford." Valhendt put a restraining hand on Yumemiru's shoulder, holding her at his side. "You are not permitted to leave, not until you have heard everything that I have to say."

"Now wait just a minute…"

"No." Valhendt smiled silkily. "Listen. Listen first. Then, if you are still eager to go we will…negotiate."

The words sent a thrill of pure terror down Bradley's spine. If he could only get to Yume, get her away from him. Then they could run, could get away…

"Though I admire your courage and strength of will Mr. Crawford, I must insist that you stop resisting me. Now, _Listen_."

And suddenly Bradley Crawford, who had never done anything against his will in his entire life, was standing frozen in place and he was _listening_.

* * *

The voices were growing louder. Something about this place, the stone walls, the damp rooms, the myriad heartbeats, the shiver of power…something was giving the voices strength. Where once he had been able to resist now he was hard pressed to keep the constant whispers from overwhelming him. He itched, oh how he itched…the blood in his veins making him want to scream… 

"Go away." His tone was pleading. "Please…" He let out a tiny sob and pressed his face against the door. His skin was streaked with dried blood; it had caked under his fingernails and stained the pale flesh of his lips.

For hours he had been trying to make it stop, trying to make his blood calm enough for him to be able to think. They had taken everything from him that he could use as a weapon so he'd used his nails, his teeth, the walls around him as he tried to make it cease.

_Was it truly God, Farfarello? You know it wasn't. There was someone else. Afterward you couldn't get the blood off your hands…_

"Noooo." He whimpered, slammed his forehead against the rough stone once, twice until the skin split.

_Your parents, and your little sister…_

"Stop it. Stop it!"

_God. God thinks you're pathetic because you can't even admit to what you've done. And you did do it Farfarello, make no mistake about that…_

"No! God will suffer for what he has done!" He snarled, leaping to his feet, single golden eye gleaming with brilliance.

_God doesn't suffer Farfarello. He has everything, he knows everything. He can see what you've done…_

"It itches." He murmured. He dug his fingers into his forearm until the digits turned white with strain. "It itches…it burns…" Flesh gave beneath his nails and blood spurted anew, staining skin and dripping to puddle on the floor.

_God is punishing you for what you've done. You are the one who must pay for this. He is demanding payment for the debt._

He curled up on the floor, wrapping his arms around himself and making a soft, keening noise in his throat. Everything itched. Everything hurt. Everything burned.

A soft voice silenced him, a voice he had not heard in a long time. It was a female voice, high, with a childish lisp and the sound of it sent a chill down his spine.

_Now I lay me down to sleep_

"I said be SILENT!"

_I pray the Lord my soul to keep_

"Stop, oh please stop…"

_and if I die before I wake,_

He covered his ears with his hands, squeezing his eye shut as he tried to block it all out.

_I pray the Lord my soul to take._

There was a brief pause and then he felt a ghostly hand slide over his hair.

_Why are you crying Jei?_

"I…I…"

_Ssh._ The hand patted his head awkwardly. _It's all right now._

"Naomh.."

He lifted his head, golden eye seeking desperately until it found…

Nothing. An empty room, a stillness, the darkness that had surrounded him since he came to this place. Pain filled his solitary eye and he lowered his head again, burying his face in his arms as, with great, shuddering sobs, he began to cry.

* * *

"What are you doing to him?" Yume was staring up at Valhendt her eyes wide with fear. "Stop it. Stop whatever it is! You can't…" 

"Tsk. Tsk." The older man patted her head as one would a child. "Calm yourself Yumemiru. He is not in any pain. I am merely…" His lips curled into a cruel smile. "…educating him."

He should have seen the blow coming. She was, after all, a woman. In the end he only caught the blur of motion out of the corner of his eye, and then pain blossomed in his cheek as her fist connected. Blood spurted in a crimson arc and he gasped, turning shocked eyes to stare at her.

"Let him go." She hissed. Her eyes, usually so dark were the color of pale honey and burning into his face. He felt a strange ripple in his mind, felt something tugging at him, insisting…

"No…" He managed to hiss, gritting his teeth as he fought back. He pushed against her with his mind, felt her slip a little before regaining her balance. Her thoughts leaked around his own, half-desperate half-mad as she scrabbled for more strength, more power, just enough to overpower him…

_Now or never…have to…decided…can't let him…get away…_

* * *

Nagi swallowed heavily, rearranging the flowers he held in his hands for the fiftieth time that afternoon. He'd picked them from Tanaka-san's garden (with her permission of course), choosing each blossom with care. Now he was waiting for Isoki…Mami-chan, to pass by on her way home from her piano lesson. He glanced at the watch that Toshihiro had given him when the others came for dinner. 

_Mama said you've never had a birthday,_ The older boy had said as Nagi hesitantly unwrapped the package. _Michi, Kyo and I thought you could use one._

When he'd seen the watch Nagi's heart had skipped a beat. It was an expensive one, not something one usually gave to a child. Apparently Tanaka-san had mentioned his tendency to wander and not return at dinnertime and her other children had taken this into consideration when they bought his gift.

Now Nagi smiled at the memory and felt a warm rush of happiness and affection fill him. He'd never had anyone who cared where he was before, or what he was doing, or who asked him what he liked to eat, or who bought him presents…

_Mami-chan should be passing by any minute…_

"Nagi-kun!"

He smiled as he caught sight of the familiar dark pigtails and grinning face. The young girl was running toward him, her school bag slapping her thigh as she moved. When she came to a halt in front of him he gave a polite bow and offered her the flowers, watching as her face lit up.

"Oh Nagi-kun!" She giggled as she took them. "Arigato."

"I…I thought you might…like them." He blushed a brilliant shade of crimson and she laughed delightedly.

"I like them very much Nagi-kun. You're so sweet to me!"

She leaned forward then and, much to his shock and embarrassment, kissed him lightly on the cheek. Then she laughed again, watching as he turned another interesting shade of red.

"Awww, look at the two little lovebirds."

Nagi stiffened, the color receding from his cheeks as he caught sight of his usual group of tormentors. They appeared to have tired of waiting for him to pass on his way home and decided to seek him out instead. If only Mami-chan weren't there…he didn't want her to see him get beat up!

"Leave us alone." Nagi said softly, eyes darkening.

"Ooh. Did you hear that guys? Pipsqueak wants us to leave him alone with his girlfriend."

They laughed, and the leader closed the distance between them.

"I don't think we're gonna do that." He replied. "Are we, guys?"

His friends laughed again, moving to circle the two smaller children, forcing them to huddle together.

"Leave us alone." Nagi said again, trying to sound firm. He squared his shoulders, lifting his jaw a fraction and glaring at the leader for all he was worth.

All he received was a fist to the cheek for his trouble. He heard Mami-chan's surprised cry as he went down, felt her hand on his shoulder.

"Why don't you go pick on someone else you big jerks?" She demanded.

"Little brat."

One of the boys shoved Mami-chan and she tripped, falling backwards to land on the concrete. The bouquet that Nagi had picked for her slid from her fingers, the flowers scattering across the sidewalk. Muddy shoes stepped on them, crushing the stems and delicate blossoms into nothing.

"Nagi-kun…" Mami-chan was still on the ground, fear in her eyes.

The small boy climbed, swaying, to his feet. His eyes were gleaming strangely, his hair lifted up off of his neck as if stirred by a strong wind. He pulled his friend to her feet and placed her behind him, keeping her as close as possible.

"What do you say we have a little fun with these two, eh fellas?" The leader smirked, rolling up the sleeves of his school uniform.

Nagi suppressed a shudder. Whenever they did that…it meant a solid beating and more bruises than he cared to think about.

Oh if only Mami-chan weren't here! What if she got hurt? They'd already pushed her down and made her drop her flowers…

He had to protect her. Had to make sure they couldn't hurt her, couldn't do anything else to them…

Someone tried to grab Mami, to pull her away from him. He heard her surprised cry, heard the fear lancing through her voice and then…

Everything went still. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he felt the thick build of power housed in his belly uncurl itself and begin to rise up. It coiled, like a cat preparing to spring on its prey and he felt a slight smile touch his lips. The power demanded that it be released, refused to accept any denials and for once Nagi was at a loss to provide any. These boys were going to hurt him, were going to hurt Mami. If he didn't do something…

He raised one hand, allowing the fingers to slowly spread outward until his palm was flat out, facing the sky. Power rushed through his arms, through his brain, through his lungs until he could scarcely breathe and then, just when he felt he could no longer hold it inside…

Time resumed.

Everything exploded in less than a second and he watched, detached, as his attackers were thrown like rag dolls in a wide circle, away from where he stood. He and Mami were safe in the eye of the storm but the others…

They landed with sickening thuds, dull crunches, heads and limbs smacking hard surfaces before they slid limply to the ground. They lay where they had fallen and they did not move, and he could already see the blood beginning to pool beneath their bodies…

It was only gradually that he realized there was sound somewhere beyond the silence that seemed to have devoured him. There was a high, shrill screaming going on somewhere, a sound of horror that vibrated its way into his bones. He frowned, blinking, trying to focus his senses enough to figure out where it was coming from…

Mami was the one screaming. Why was Mami screaming?

_Oh. Oh no. Not this. Not again_.

He stumbled backwards, tripped over a leg and stared in utter horror at the body of the young boy lying still on the ground.

"I…I…" He swallowed. "I'm sorry." He whispered brokenly.

Then he was running. Running, feet slapping the ground with a rhythmic smack-smack-smack. He was running, and his lungs were bursting for air, and there were stars swirling in front of his eyes, but he didn't stop. He couldn't stop.

_No. Not this. Not again._

* * *

"Let him go." She repeated the command and he visibly faltered, his expression strained. 

"Yume…" He snarled, trying to rally his strength. "Even if…you f…force me off…aren't g…going…to win."

"You can have me." She said softly. "If you just let him go…"

He ground his teeth together, felt blood leaking from his lip where he'd bitten it through.

"Never." He managed to grind out.

Anger flashed in her eyes and they were suddenly black, black, black as she advanced on him.

"LET HIM GO!"

He gasped, stumbled backward, felt his grip weaken…

"Yume?"

* * *

Schuldig was half-awake when the voice came rolling into his mind. It wasn't loud enough to bring him fully to consciousness, barely registering as more than a whisper in his thoughts. Its echo however reverberated through his skull, growing louder with each pass until it was enough to rattle his teeth in his skull. He rolled off the cot in the infirmary with a muffled curse, popping back up to deliver a furious glare to the general population. 

_Scheiße! What in Hell was that?_

_Schuldig._ The voice was amused now, and softer, but it still made him wince in pain.

_What?_ He demanded sourly.

_I have a task for you Schuldig._

The boy fell silent, all evidence of temper fading in a heartbeat as the words settled into his brain.

Before they'd sent someone to talk to him, to explain a few things to him before he could be considered a student of the school. There were, the woman had informed him, only three general requirements made of all who studied in Rosenkreuz Academy. The first was loyalty, loyalty to the school and to the organization in general was to be put before all other things. The second was discipline, in that all students had to apply themselves fully to whatever task set before them. The last, and the one that made him most uneasy, was obedience.

He was to do whatever a teacher asked of him. No matter what he thought of it, no matter how it rankled him, he had no choice. Failure to comply would result in strict punishment, loss of privileges and demotion from whatever level he had achieved in his studies.

_All right._ He winced at the sound of his own mental voice. He sounded…weak. He swallowed and forced his expression into something a little more defiant. _If you need me so fucking badly as to wake me up like that I suppose I'd best do whatever the hell it is you want done._ He paused. _So? _

There was a soft chuckle and it sent a chill of fear gliding down his spine. Whoever this guy was, he made Schuldig uneasy.

_Come down to the Main Hall. Remain out of sight and wait for my signal. I will explain what you are to do and you will do it, without question. Do you understand?_

Schuldig bristled slightly. He'd been ordered around for sixteen years already, and for those sixteen years he had been disgustingly obedient. However, his recent escape from the hospital and his journey to the school and infused him with a touch of defiance, and more self-confidence than was probably healthy in a young man. Where once he would have followed without question, now he wanted nothing more than to spit at the demand.

However, the alternative, as his "instructor" had informed him earlier, was to return to the mental hospital and that was something he was unwilling to even consider.

So, despite his suspicion and his new desire to be sulky and defiant, the sixteen-year old German boy found himself pulling on a pair of shoes and heading for the door of the infirmary.

Somehow he knew he was going to regret this.

* * *

"Bradley, run." She whispered. 

"What?"

"I thought I could stop him." She replied, circling around so that she stood between her boyfriend and her old master. "I thought I could make him let us go."

"You're strong Yume." Valhendt admitted calmly, wiping blood from his lips. "But you are not _that_ strong."

"I know." She flicked her fingers at the tall man behind her. "Bradley if you don't go now you aren't going to be able to get away."

"I'm not leaving you here with him." Bradley snapped. "Are you mad? Come with me."

"I _can't._"

"Then I'm not going anywhere either."

There were tears on her cheeks and she looked so pale…but her eyes were black as pitch and there was something wild rising from their depths…

"Yume…"

There was a flash of something, like the air itself was bending around them and Yume cried out, gasping. She slid backwards a few feet before stopping, arms outstretched.

* * *

Schuldig was watching the scene unfold from the shadows of one of the columns. He was secretly impressed by the girl, though he knew enough of the situation from Valhendt's explanations to know that she was a traitor. The German man was strong, far stronger than Schuldig had ever imagined someone could be. The fact that she wasn't dead yet was a testament to either her own power, or her strength of will. 

She was bleeding now. Eyes, nose, mouth, ears, he could see crimson trails leaking across her pale skin. It wouldn't be long. The pressure on her brain was going to kill her soon.

With a quiet grunt he glanced over at the Headmaster. Valhendt was sweating. Hmm…

* * *

Bradley watched in horror as his girlfriend fell to her knees. She was breathing heavily, deep, wet gasps that sounded as if they had something other than air in them. Every part of her body was shaking with strain and he could see the tendons standing out against the skin, threatening to snap. His vision was a little fuzzy and it was all he could do to focus on her, to take that first step toward her fallen form… 

_A flash, her face in the sunlight as she gazed up at him without recognition…_

_"Hello. Have we met before?"_

_The pain, oh the pain…_

"Nooo!" He lunged for her, reaching, trying to grasp her, to save her, to do something before…

It slammed into his brain with the force of a freight train and he crumbled, crying out in pain. Something wrapped around his mind and squeezed until he saw stars dancing in front of his gaze, until he could scarcely breathe and it was all he could do not to pass out.

_Her face, eyes closed as she lay in their bed, moonlight illuminated her features so clearly. She sighed and curled more tightly under the blankets, hair sliding like silk over the pillow…_

_The feel of her skin under his fingers, the softness of it, the smooth curves and bumps of her body as he explores…_

_Her laughter, startled by something he said and filling the silence in the room with something rich and warm until he can only laugh in turn…_

Then a strange ripple, his fingers clutching uselessly at his sides as he slides the rest of the way to the floor.

_"Ow." She muttered, rubbing her nose._

_"Oh jeeze, I'm sorry." Bradley Crawford took a measured step back, reaching out to steady her with a hand on her elbow. "Are you all right?"_

That wasn't right. That was the past, that had already happened. He was only able to see the future…

Then the lights went out and his last coherent thought was swallowed by that dark _thing_ wrapped around his brain. He whimpered something, a name, an endearment, a farewell, and there was no more.

* * *

Suichi Takatori was standing on the balcony of his apartment, eyes closed as he enjoyed the cool air sighing across his skin. He'd been sleeping soundly, up until around an hour ago. The nightmares had been growing steadily worse over the past few weeks and it had gotten to the point that he couldn't get one good night's sleep in ten. If things continued on in this manner… 

"Suichi-san?"

He turned around, trying to ignore the wave of exhaustion that threatened to take his legs out from under him. By all rights he should have gone back to sleep by now but the thought of returning to those nightmares…he shuddered.

"What is it Omi?"

The boy standing in the doorway looked terribly shy, his cheeks red, his eyes downcast.

"Aren't you cold?" He asked softly.

Suichi smiled slightly and moved back into the warm interior of his apartment. The boy moved hurriedly out of his way, flinching away from him. The sight made Suichi wince.

His brother's son. He'd been kidnapped and Reiji had left him for dead. It was only with Kritiker's assistance that Suichi had been able to rescue the boy. Although now grandfather was talking about keeping the boy and training him…Suichi sighed. Why had they even bothered to save him if they were going to force him into hell?

"What are you doing awake at this hour Omi? You were supposed to be in bed long ago."

"Keiko-san put me to bed at 8 o'clock." The boy replied. "She read me a story and tucked me in like she always does."

"Then what are you doing up?"

The boy shrugged a little, glancing away.

"I heard you."

"Hmm?"

"You were crying." Omi looked up at him. "I didn't know adult cried. I cry sometimes when I feel scared but Persia-sama tells me I should be stronger than that."

"Don't listen to him." Suichi said abruptly. Then he blinked. "I mean, he doesn't know everything." He offered a weak smile. "Sometimes people just need to cry. There's nothing wrong with it."

Omi smiled.

"I'm glad. I don't like being weak."

Suichi felt a stronger smile threatening to take over his facial expression and he forced it back with a rough swallow.

"Come on then, back to bed with you."

The boy turned back toward his own bedroom obediently, hurrying to jump onto his mattress before settling under the blankets with a sigh. Suichi tucked him in, brushing dirty blonde hair away from the boy' forehead.

"Suichi-san, can I tell you a secret?"

"Hmm?"

"Promise you won't tell Persia-sama?"

Suichi smiled.

"I promise."

"I have nightmares sometimes." The boy said solemnly.

Suichi sighed, reaching over to turn the light out.

"So do I Omi. So do I."

* * *

She was sitting in the dark. It had been hours, minutes, seconds, years, how long she didn't know. Every part of her body screamed with pain, the agony that told her she had strained her gift beyond its limits. That, and she had been repeatedly pummeled with wave after wave of psychic energy from one of the strongest psychics on the planet. She sighed. 

They'd healed her. That was what she couldn't figure out. Her only chance had been to overpower Valhendt, to force him to relent and leave Bradley alone. When Valhendt defeated her that should have been the end of it. She knew enough about her gift and her own body to know that she was going to die. She'd put their lives on a gamble, hoping that her gift would be enough to save them.

She'd been wrong.

So why was she still alive? It didn't make any sense. Surely they would have killed her by now…

The lights came on. The door opened. A young man stepped into the room and shut the door behind him, leaning against it.

"Well this is new." She muttered. What was Valhendt playing at? This boy was younger than she was and he looked…well, terrified.

"They're watching." He said softly. He didn't move from his position against the door. If anything he huddled against it as if he wanted nothing more than to escape through it and out into the hallway once again.

"They're always watching." She leaned her head back against the wall. "You'd better do whatever it is they wanted you to do."

He closed his eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. When he opened them they were glazed with tears.

"I'm sorry." He whispered. "Please…I'm sorry."

She offered him a slight smile.

"It's all right. Not like you have much of a choice." When he still hesitated she gave a soft laugh. "Best get on with it. They'll only be angry if you put it off."

He nodded jerkily and moved toward her, falling stiffly to his knees. She watched him with sympathy. Gods, had she ever been that young? No doubt in a few years he would have lost this innocence, this fear, this kindness. She'd lost it quickly enough.

"I'm sorry." He whispered again.

She smiled, eyes sliding closed.

"I know."

Then he pressed his hands to either side of her head and squeezed his eyes shut, his entire body trembling.

_I hope you can forgive me one day, Bradley. Until then…_

She opened her eyes, blinking rapidly as she struggled to focus. Emerald eyes were level with her own, filled with tears and the kind of pain that tore at her heart, though she wasn't quite sure why.

"Hello." She said pleasantly. "What's wrong?"

The boy let out a high, keening wail and threw himself at her with enough strength to knock the wind out of her body. She patted him awkwardly, uncertainty painting her features.

"Whatever it is I've done to upset you," She said softly. "I'm sorry."

* * *

Watching through the one-way glass, Brad Crawford felt his heart crawl into his stomach and begin to die. The woman in the room before him had nothing in her eyes, only a vague sort of concern for the boy she held sobbing in her arms. There was nothing of the woman he had left, none of her memory, her wit, her pain. There was only a woman who had never done anything, never been anyone, never loved or lost or hurt. 

She probably didn't even know what her name was.

"Well Mr. Crawford?"

He took a deep breath, felt something slip away from him as he turned to face the older man standing a few feet away, watching him expectantly.

"You won't hurt her?"

"If you do as we say, she will not be touched." Valhendt replied easily.

"Not even by the students." Bradley insisted. "No gifts, no snipers, nothing. I want…" He faltered. "Just leave her alone."

"You have my word. She will remain unharmed so long as you cooperate with our organization. Should you do anything to go against this her life, of course, will be forfeit."

Bradley looked again at the room. Two men had come to drag the boy away. She was looking at them, confusion apparent in her gaze.

"Wait," She called, stumbling to her feet. "You can't…"

They slammed the door. There was a flicker then, annoyance flashing across her face. For an instant she was Yume, she was stubborn and foolish and the woman he loved more than anything in the world. Then it was gone. Her eyes were blank, her expression flat.

He turned away abruptly, not wanting to see. It was Yume and it was not Yume, and that hurt more than he'd ever expected it to.

"I will do whatever you ask of me." He said softly. He held out his hand. "We are in agreement."

"Good." Valhendt's tongue flicked across his straight, white teeth and he took Bradley's hand in return. "I am glad to hear it."

They shook hands, and Valhendt nodded to his assistant.

"See that a room is prepared for Mr. Crawford. He will be a student with us from now on."

Bradley saw the cruel, satisfied smile that crossed the man's face then and he felt the black silk of despair beginning to tug at him. Inwardly he steeled himself, refusing to submit.

He would survive. He would train. He would become stronger than Valhendt, stronger than Rosenkreuz. He would train a team and shape them into the perfect weapon for revenge. And then, one day…

_The world was falling apart, shaking at the seams and trembling with the force of the explosion. He could see shock in their faces and he felt the warm glow of satisfaction in his chest as he realized that they were going to die. They were all going to die._

_He smiled, stretched his arms out wide, and fell. The wind rushed by and he could vaguely hear them screaming, cursing him as they died. It made his smile widen, even as he hit something that drove sharp pain into his chest and made blood fill his mouth._

_He fell for a long time._

_When he finally hit the water it was a kind of relief, to have that dome close in over his head. It was suddenly so silent, so still, and he could close his eyes for the last time…_

Bradley Crawford followed Valhendt's assistant to his new room. Tonight he would go to sleep. He would be obedient, the perfect little slave.

And then, one day…

_She smiled at him, face in sunlight. She laughed and the sound tore his heart into a million peaces._

He bit his lip until it brought blood, and this time when he smiled blood ran down his chin and dripped onto the white collar of his shirt.

_Blood on white._

* * *

General Note to All: 

Who wants a sequel? I'm not going to spend all of my Winter Break writing it if no one's going to bother reading it. Give me five good reviews telling me why I should continue and I'll think about it. Otherwise...

Ta-ta. Borgie-chan out.


	11. Teaser

This is what the next part is beginning to look like. Tell me what you think!

_Teaser for Death By Inches_

_He was warm. The sun on his face made him smile and tilt his head back with a contented sigh. Grass crinkled under his cheek with a dry rushing sound and he breathed in the scent of the outdoors, something he had lost in his years in the city. It had been so long since he'd been able to relax, since he'd been able to close his eyes and stop looking over his shoulder. He'd been so tense in the past few months; this sudden uncoiling of his body felt like something approaching heaven._

_There was movement beside him and he opened his eyes, momentarily blinded by the brilliance of the sun._

_She smiled at him. For a moment his breath caught in his chest and he could do nothing but stare._

_"Silly." Her voice was the same, soft with a slightly husky edge as she reached forward to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. "Were you going to sleep all day long? We have things to do you know."_

_He opened his mouth, closed it._

_She looked beautiful. The sun brought out the velvety darkness of her wealth of black hair, put a soft sheen on the warm tone of her skin. Her black eyes sparkled as she looked down at him, the amusement and love so deep as to be almost tangible._

_It hurt to look at her._

_"This is a dream." He said finally. _

_His mind was suddenly awhirl with chaos and the misty confusion that made it so difficult to think. Whatever solid ground he had been inhabiting was no longer there, and he was hard-pressed to find it once again. Though, he had to admit with a flutter of emotion, if he was really losing his mind this was certainly the way he would want to go about it._

_"Is it?" She shrugged, still smiling. "I can never tell the difference." She flopped down on her stomach beside him, resting her pointed chin in her hands. "Did you know that when you sleep your mind is the same color as your eyes?"_

_It hurt. Everything hurt. He couldn't sit here in the sunlight and talk to her as if nothing had happened. As if they weren't…as if she hadn't…_

_There were tears in his eyes and he wasn't quite sure how they had come to be there. She glanced over her shoulder at him and her expression softened._

_"Don't cry." She combed her fingers through his hair and kissed the corner of his mouth. "Don't cry Bradley don't cry."_

_He was crying. He couldn't help it. He clung to her, fingers no doubt making bruises in her dream body as he held onto her. Maybe if he held on tightly enough, if he wouldn't let go…_

_"Hush." She kissed his cheek, his forehead, and again the corner of his mouth. "You have to wake up now."_

_"No." He moaned against her shoulder, trying to press himself closer, trying to climb inside of her body so that they couldn't be apart…_

_"Yes." She touched the hair at the nape of his neck, tickling a little as she smoothed his collar._

_Then she pulled away, and he couldn't hold onto her. She was like water, like silken sand sliding through his arms. For a moment he could see himself in her eyes, see his own pale face, the dark smudges under his eyes, the desperate gleam in his gaze, the unruly ruffle of his hair…_

_And then she was gone gone gone and he was spinning away through the rushing sound of grass and the heat of the sunlight on his skin._

The alarms again. He gave a muffled cry of pain as he came to awareness, her face still swimming before him. Then the strident wail of the alarms hit him and he winced, covering his ears even as he forced himself to roll out of bed.

His feet hit the cold stone floor with an icy shock that he patiently ignored as he struggled in vain to make out the numbers on the digital clock. After a moment he gave up. Whatever the time was, it was too damned early to be getting up for drills of any kind, that was for sure.

Not that there was anything he could do about it…

He forced himself to take a shower, focusing on the steady patter of water across his skin to try and clear his mind. There were meditation exercises, things he could use to calm down, to forget…

He didn't want to forget. He wanted to keep her face fixed behind his eyes, the way she'd looked in the sunlight, smiling at him. He was afraid that if he let it go he would forget her, forget why he was here, forget what he had to do.

_It's not forever._ He reminded himself as he dried off and went in search of his clothes. _It's not forever, it's just until…_ He left the thought unfinished. One never knew when they had someone listening in.

He got dressed. The uniform was scratchy and uncomfortable but he put up with it, as he put up with so many things these days. He straightened the tie and laced up his shoes with the mindless efficiency of someone who had taken to living by routine. As long as nothing changed he didn't have to think, could just take this day by day without suffocating, without panicking, without failing.

He thought he owed her that much.

By the time he was heading for the door he had himself firmly back in control. His thoughts, his feelings were effectively boxed up and left in the back of his mind where he wouldn't have to worry about them.

Then he opened the door and stepped out into the massive hallway that comprised the upper level dormitories of the School. Without a word he fell into his place in line and began moving toward the cafeteria. No one spoke, no one smiled, no one moved beyond the _tramp tramp tramp_ of boots resounding on the stone floor.

Only once did Bradley Crawford's impeccable emotional shields falter, as they had every single day since his first morning as a student. He felt a cold, biting anger rise for a mere instant, for less than a second before he successfully stuffed it back into its place.

Then he looked away from the red-headed German boy called Schuldig, and went about serving himself from the buffet table in the center of the room.

Just another day. Just another damned day in this god-forsaken hell-hole and he couldn't help but wonder, quietly, at the back of his mind, how long it would be before he lost it altogether.


End file.
